A Life Without You
by mysticxf
Summary: The Doctor had intended to return for Clara the very next Wednesday, but when his Tardis returns many years later, he finds she's moved on. (Whouffle)
1. Chapter 1

"Give them to me," the little boy hollered.

"_No, they're mine_!" his sister replied in frustration.

Clara sighed.

She'd gotten used to the sounds of screams and the fights over who should get to pick the radio station in the car, or who should get the last chocolate chip cookie, or who should have the last shower – because neither of the children wanted the first. She'd gotten used to the kicking and the small punches or scratches or bites or deliberately tossed toys that left tears and red welts and she'd gotten used to the name calling. She was fairly certain she could write a novel on the amount of insults children could creatively throw at each other and she knew today would be a day to add a few to the list.

They were having an argument over socks.

_Socks_.

Clara sighed.

"Henry, _Olive_," she called loudly as she stopped trying to pull her hair into a bun and turned away from the mirror, eyes momentarily shut before she moved out of her bedroom and into the hallway. Hurrying into Olive's room, she found the small boy yanking a pair of cartoonish yellow socks out of the hands of the girl in front of him. Snatching them out of his grasp, Clara held them up in the air as he jumped for them, tongue tucked tightly between his thin lips.

"I told him they were for girls," Olive informed her, arms crossed over the chest of a pink and blue shirt that clashed horribly her neon green tool skirt.

"And I told her they were mine," Henry grunted as he finally stopped reaching and mimicked the girl to his right, tightly weaving his arms together in a knot over a button up blue shirt that hung lop-sided from mismatching the buttons with their holes.

Clara looked at the socks and shook her head, "They're Olive's socks," she allowed, "And you can't wear them today," she told the smirking girl, before addressing her brother, "Henry, apologize to your sister."

"But…" he started, bouncing on the spot twice in a way that sent dark hair over his right eye.

Pointing, she repeated, "Not today, Henry, please."

He stomped sideways and looked at the girl who waited expectantly before muttering, "I'm sorry."

"Now," Clara dropped to her knees carefully and grabbed hold of his shirt, fixing his buttons before straightening his collar and wiping the hair out of his face with a soft, "You need a haircut," as he smiled deviously at her. "Go, brush your teeth."

"I already did," he told her.

She shook her head as she stood, "I can smell your breakfast on your breath."

Dragging his feet and groaning loudly, Henry went into the bathroom and she listened as he began working on scrubbing his teeth while she moved to the closet. Plucking items, she turned back to Olive with a half-smile. The girl was currently doing circles on the spot, humming some song off one of her favorite cartoons.

With a sigh, Clara told her, "You, it's a school day and you know you have to wear your uniform."

"I don't like my uniform," the girl told her, stopping and jutting out her tongue in disgust.

Clara laughed, hearing the spit from the bathroom and the mumbled words of aggravation before she told Olive, "I don't like school uniforms either, but they're the rules."

"Couldn't we break the rules just once?" Olive asked brightly, large brown eyes waiting.

With a shake of her head, Clara walked towards her with the khaki skirt and pale blue top that matched her brother's. "Come on, let's get changed."

The child complained in murmurs and random sounds of protest and went limp at one point – another game Clara had gotten use to – and soon she was ushering them both to the car outside the small house, knowing she had to get them to school within the hour and that hour was almost up. Clara pushed her key into the lock on the front passenger door and grunted in frustration when it got stuck before a familiar buzz started up from just behind her, giving her heart a jump.

"I've got it!" the Doctor said happily as he pointed his Sonic at the lock and it clicked.

The car alarm blared and the children covered their ears, looking up at the strange man with expressions of confusion as Clara pressed the buttons on her key and in the subsequent silence they all looked at one another. The Doctor glanced from Clara down to the children and then back up at her, smile widening before he gestured to them and asked, "New charges?"

"Um," Clara managed, head coming up slightly before she tugged the front passenger door open and hit the auto-unlock button to get them loaded into their seats in the back. "Seat belts," she told them both, then pointed, "And no arguing, you know what I've told you about traffic fatalities."

"People hamburger, smashed across the street," Henry replied with a laugh.

Olive made a face of disgust that the Doctor mirrored.

The door closed and Clara looked up at him, the surprised smile frozen on her face telling him something was wrong and he was instantly uncomfortable, pointing at the dark blue vehicle beside them, "New car? You didn't have an automobile before, did you? I don't recall it."

"No," she told him plainly. "Had to get one."

"Ah!" He said quickly, then clasped his hands together and gestured at the Tardis, parked across the street before glancing at the children, "Is it not Wednesday?"

"It's Wednesday," Clara nodded.

"You're not… coming?"

"Doctor," she uttered before she looked back at the children who were both peering up curiously from the back seat – two sets of identically large dark eyes, "When you said you'd be back next week… you missed the mark by a bit."

"Is it not the Wednesday after our trip to Venus?" He questioned, brow coming down in a familiar way that made her tilt away slightly with a hidden smile.

Clara shook her head at him, feeling her eyes warming with tears before she admitted, "No, that was quite some time ago."

And then he frowned, "How much time ago?"

The window rolled down roughly as Henry turned the manual knob before popping his head out to shout, "Mum, we're going to be late for school!"

The Doctor stared at Henry a moment before looking to Clara and repeating, "Mum?"

With a small nod, she gestured back at them and told him, "Doctor, those are _my_ children."

They stared at one another. The Doctor giving her a small smile at first, one that studied her, saw the years he'd missed in her eyes, he hadn't noticed the weariness there, or the small flecks of wrinkles at the corners. It hadn't been too long, but it was long enough. His grin sadly drifted away with the understanding that _he'd missed her_. Not by a few hours or a few days or even a few months. He could see the children, easily five or six years old, both fidgeting in their seats in the back of the vehicle. He swallowed hard on the acknowledgement that there was a very good chance – _an absolute certainty_ – that she wouldn't travel with him anymore.

She had other responsibilities now.

_Two very important ones_.

Clara opened her mouth several times, thoughts that never made it out, before the car horn honked and she turned to see Henry falling back into his seat, sharing a laugh with Olive and she smiled back at the Doctor, "I'm really very sorry, Doctor, but I have to be going."

Nodding awkwardly, he raised a hand towards her and asked, "Could we, I mean, could we have brunch? Catch up?"

Twisting her wrist up, she glanced at her watch, Clara shook her head, "I have work. I'll be late as it is, dropping them off and getting through traffic…"

"You have a job?" He didn't know why he was so surprised. He supposed he'd always considered her a governess – a watcher, a teacher, a caregiver of children. If she had children of her own, why wouldn't that be her job. She interrupted his thinking with a half laugh.

Clara nodded and gestured back, "Kids don't really pay for themselves, Doctor."

"But, your hus… their fath…" and he found himself incapable of finishing either word, his chest crushing with an unfathomable jealousy as he turned his attention to the children currently having an animated discussion. Both, he realized, easily wielding her expressions on their small faces.

"No, it's just me," Clara told him gruffly. "We can…" she trailed and sighed, "We can catch up later."

"What's later," he brought his own wrist up to glance at his watch, moving nervously on the spot as she stood perfectly still, considering him.

"Later," she repeated, "Um," Clara looked back at the children who, she knew, would break into a fight if she didn't get herself into the car soon. "Tonight, could you come back tonight? They'll be out around eight."

"Tonight," he nodded, "After eight," and he smiled because she was still dictating their schedule.

Clara moved to the driver's side and she pulled open the door, giving him a smirk and a once-over before her eyes trailed away and she fell into the seat, turning swiftly to remind the children to put on their seat belts. To remind her children. _Clara's children_. The Doctor felt somewhat faint. Yesterday she'd been hanging on his arm, asking him where they'd go next; yesterday she'd been in his Tardis, nudging him with her elbow and giving him doe eyes about having a normal dinner on Earth while the Maitland's were on vacation.

_Yesterday they'd been together_…

He waved to the car as it eased out of the driveway past him and he watched the two small sets of hands that thrust themselves at the window to wave back. The Doctor walked slowly towards his Tardis and laid a hand on her, closing his eyes against the aching in his chest, two broken hearts that made it hard to think, much less move forward. He stepped inside and found one of the chairs that sat around the center console and he planted himself in it.

Around him, the Tardis stood silently, as if even it understood his sorrow, and he gave his head a shake, standing and moving to the center to touch the equipment there. Except he hesitated. If he jumped forward in time, he might miss her again. He might miss all of her, and he was certain there wouldn't be another Clara out there in the universe to console him. She was the original, _his_, and he began working to power his ship down. The more lights went off, the more angry he grew.

Somehow this machine had caused it.

"Never get me where I… I don't need to be _now_; I needed to be _then_," he growled under his breath as she complained – another light flickering off. "And now it's too late for that. This life is _fixed_."

He shouted out as he gripped the darkened console.

He'd _loved_ her.


	2. Chapter 2

They drove quietly through the streets, Clara turning familiar corners and tapping her fingers impatiently at lights as they approached the school. She didn't have time to be upset and, glancing at the children singing off key and loudly behind her, she knew she certainly couldn't cry. Pulling up to the curb, she unlocked the doors and moved around to usher them out, looking down at them as they stood by the car staring up at her. She could see it on their faces, the question they were too afraid to ask.

_Who was that man_?

And Clara didn't answer, she nodded at the school and watched as they reluctantly stepped into her, both giving her a tighter hug than they usually would, and they walked towards the front steps, hand in hand. Her beautiful children. _Her beautiful children_. Clara raised a hand and took a swipe at the tear before it dropped over her skin and she waited until they were through the doors before going back into the car and taking a long breath.

When she looked in the rear view, she could see the redness in her eyes and she understood that Henry and Olive had seen that. Clara cursed herself because she hadn't been able to contain her emotions the way she promised she would years ago. She hadn't been able to stay strong the way she wanted to and they'd gotten a glimpse at her in a way she'd been determined for them never to see.

She knew they didn't quite understand why, but they knew their mother was hurting. Clara looked away and turned the car back onto the street, making her way to the building in town. A bookstore. A shop. A place where she organized the shelves and read aloud to groups and happily made suggestions. Where she received hugs from toddlers, sad looks from their parents, and pats on her shoulder or cheek from the elderly because they all knew _Clara_.

Hers was a mystery played out in public.

Pushing the thoughts into the farthest reaches of her mind, she stepped into the store, listening to the jingle of the bells above her head with a half-smile, before going into the back to drop her purse and jacket off. She received a quick hello from Marge, the shop owner, and she chuckled to herself as she watched Jamie – a regular – skipping through the aisles with books in one hand and a hot coffee in the other, headphones jammed tightly into each ear.

"The kids today, even the good ones always have their heads in the clouds," Marge muttered from her spot near the register.

Clara nodded and gestured to a box on the counter, "New stock?"

"Yup."

"Hmph," she responded, bending to read the label before searching out a box cutter from underneath the counter so she could begin cataloging it.

She could feel the other woman's eyes on her, and waited, because it was only a matter of time before she asked, "You're not quite yourself today, kids alright?"

"Fighting over socks this morning," she replied absently.

Marge gave a humph of laughter, "They'll be fighting about everything fairly soon – won't know what to do with yourself with those two."

"Yeah," she agreed, slicing the top of the box and then opening it to peer inside.

Marge was still watching her curiously, ignoring the bell of a second customer who moved into the shop and began perusing the aisles. Clara closed her eyes a moment before glancing over and giving the woman a shrug before Marge asked bluntly, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Clara sighed.

Finger rising in her direction, Marge told her bluntly, "You think I don't know when something's wrong with you, Clara? Something's wrong and you get so distant I can see another universe in your eyes."

She smiled at the notion before admitting, "Maybe sometimes I wish I were in another universe."

"Fights over socks can't be that bad," the older woman said knowingly. "Spill it."

"Old friend dropped by unexpectedly," she said with a shake of her head and a smile, "I just hadn't seen him in some time, thought I'd never see him again – figured he'd moved on. Was a bit of a shock is all."

Clara laughed to herself, it was the truth. She presumed she'd just gotten in over her head and he'd decided that was it for them. Too involved for their own good. Clara could still see the gassy surface of Venus, swirling just beneath the open Tardis doors and the way he was looking down at her when she'd glanced up – as if she were more magnificent than the planet under them. It still made her heart skip and she realized she was staring out into the shop blankly.

With a quick blink, she turned to Marge and admitted, "I loved him once."

"This was before Henry and Olive, I take it."

Clara laughed, "Yeah, before motherhood. Feels like an eternity before…"

Marge nodded at the books, "Well, get those on the shelves, don't wanna loose sales to that blasted internet because these soddin' kids don't see it on the shelf when they walk through the door."

Focusing on the smell of the pages in front of her, she nodded.

He'd never been good about waiting, or being patient, but he sat in the dark and silent Tardis for hours, his mind mulling over the morning. She was entitled to live her life, he knew, he just hadn't expected for her to have done it so soon. The Doctor anticipated that they'd have a few years together, maybe he'd tell her how he felt instead of leaving her with mixed signals and expectations every trip. Maybe it'd be more than a few years.

The car door slammed shut and he could hear the commotion of singing and laughter just outside, taking him out of his daydreams of yesterday. He stood slowly, stretching his muscles before going to the door and peering out, seeing her holding her daughter's hand as the girl twirled under her arm and her son laughed and pointed, tongue coming out easily to mock his sister before Clara chided him.

This was her life.

These were their years, the years that should have been his, and she'd spent them raising two children alone. It enraged him, knowing that someone had left this _family_. He _wouldn't have_… the Doctor lowered his head, he _had_ left her. He'd given her hand a rub and a kiss and he'd agreed to return the next Wednesday and he'd gone. It wasn't my choice, he thought to himself in frustration. He stepped out and watched her bending slightly, hands patting both children on their backsides to get them to hurry into the house and he followed, skipping up to the front door just as it closed.

Knocking, he clenched his fists at his sides and watched through the frosted glass as she turned and looked at him, the pause registering with him painfully before she opened the door and held it, turning quickly to shout, "Henry, I better not catch you in the cookie jar!"

There was a giggle that belonged to the girl and then two sets of feet went stomping down the hall and the Doctor smiled, "Hands a bit full."

"Yeah," she sputtered, "I thought I said eight."

"I couldn't wait any longer," he admitted.

Clara glanced at the Tardis and tilted her head slightly, giving him the same look she'd given him the first time he'd met her – _actual her_ – before asking, "Have you been waiting there all day?"

With a nod, the Doctor told her, "Yes."

"You do remember it's a time machine, could have popped back…" she trailed.

Their eyes met and he explained plainly, "Didn't want to miss the appointment this time."

Clara smiled sadly and her head dropped, then she stepped back and opened the door, raising an arm to invite him inside. He stepped past her slowly, and down a step into the living room at his right, seeing the various browns and autumn reds that created her home and he smiled at the scattered toys between the couch and the television set.

The Doctor heard her move around him and she went down a hall with a quick, "Right back."

He raised a finger as she had and went to the fireplace in front him, glancing over the photos that adorned the mantel. With a smile, he touched what seemed to be a recent photo of Clara kneeling on a picnic blanket with both children crushing her in a hug. Her eyes were almost shut, mouth wide with laughter, and he looked away, towards the window at the front of the house before looking over the rest. He plucked a frame from behind one of Henry and Olive riding tricycles on the street and held it tightly as she came back into the room.

"Twins," he laughed, turning to show her the photo of herself in the hospital, one child on each arm.

Clara's eyes went wide as she nodded and smiled, "Yeah, wasn't really expecting that."

"With all the technology…" he trailed as she came to take the photo from him and replace it, eyes glancing over the mantel.

"Some things still come as a surprise, Doctor, even with all the technology."

The words came with a bite that stung and he nodded. "I intended to come back."

"Very next Wednesday, I remember," she told him.

"The Tardis," he pointed, "Sometimes," he scratched his head, "Sometimes she has other plans."

Clara sighed, "I had other plans."

"So did I," the Doctor whispered.

She raised a hand to rub at her temple before gesturing, "Well, living room," she turned, "Small kitchen, but it does the job. Dining room, but that gets more use for school projects than eating." A light laugh escaped her as she went back up the step to the hall and lead him down, pointing to her left, "Henry's room," he peeked in to see the boy fighting two dinosaurs, "Olive's," she was organizing a tea party, "Mine," she stepped in and he followed.

Clara stood next to the bed and watched him glance around, occasional grin flickering over his face as he found some odd trinket hanging about, or some unknown thought fluttered through his mind. She waited anxiously as he eyed her bathroom and then turned to look at her, features overwrought with guilt and she knew he hadn't lied. He'd intended to come back for her.

"Not quite the never-ending mess of the Tardis, but it works. I've got a good life," she assured, "We're doing well here, just the three of us."

Frozen to the spot just outside of her bathroom, he pressed his lips tightly together. "Clara," he started, hand coming up to the open door to the hall before he whispered, with an honest smile, "They're beautiful."

She laughed then, tears automatic on her cheeks before she wiped them away and nodded, "Must agree with you there, Doctor."

"How old are they?" He asked curiously.

"Six," she responded.

He nodded, "How long has it been?"

Eyes shifting away, Clara thought for a moment before admitting, "Eight, maybe?"

Looking at the ground, he asked quietly, "How have you been?"

"I've been great," she lied, watching his eyes flicker up to find hers and she knew he'd seen that hint of sadness that defied her words. "It's been tough, but I've got them – they're my life, Doctor, and I wouldn't trade them for anything."

He nodded, then clasped his hands together, "I'm fairly certain it's time to start dinner," then he smiled devilishly, "I could help with that, boil some water, retrieve necessary kitchen utensils, hold a recipe book. I hold books well."

She laughed and nodded slowly, "That would be wonderful."


	3. Chapter 3

He was balanced on his chair – one foot on the cushion and the other planted awkwardly at the top of its back – fork held in one hand, Sonic in the other and he looked from one enraptured face to the other and told them quickly, "We knew it was attack or die, so your mother took the sword from my hand, " he handed the fork to Clara, "and she swung it right at the Grindole and as he recoiled, I used my Sonic on the exit door just quick enough for us to get through, trapping him inside."

"And you saved the city?" Henry asked, voice hushed with exasperation.

Clara smiled, "Yes, we saved the city," she held out a hand to help the Doctor down and settled the fork on the table

"Mummy, you weren't going to hurt the Grindole, were you?" Olive questioned, small face a world of disappointment.

"Olive," the Doctor bent to tell her, "It's never good to hurt, and no, your mum wouldn't have."

Henry climbed onto his chair and Clara groaned because she knew it would happen eventually, with the Doctor hopping about the living room, and he told them all sternly, "I would have sliced him open!" He took his own fork and swiped it over the air, face scrunching tightly as he made swish and splat noises.

"You're so gross," Olive lamented.

Clara pointed and dropped her hand slightly and watched him slump back down into the seat to poke at the remnants of his food with his _sword_. She pushed hair behind her ears and sighed, "Come on, it's time for you both to have a quick bath."

They whined aloud.

The Doctor shifted back from them and looked to Clara, who simply raised both hands, forefinger high on each, and made a shushing noise as she waited for them to go silent. He smiled as she looked between them and then stood and declared, "Henry, haven't forgotten about this morning; you're up first," and she went around the table to give his shoulder a nudge, shouting his name in surprise when he ran. "I have to…" Clara pointed and she rushed after the boy, leaving the Doctor with Olive.

He turned to look at her, still staring down the hallway after her mother and brother, lips set in a tight line and when she finally shifted to meet his eyes, he could see her mother's dimple, set deep in her left cheek. There was very little about the girl now watching him that didn't remind him of Clara. The large dark eyes, the perky nose, the dark tresses that framed her round face and the slight rise of her eyebrows as she suddenly found herself nervously kicking her feet underneath the table.

"There's no need to be frightened," he offered quietly.

"Oh, I'm not frightened," she snapped back at him. Just like her mother.

Leaning back in his chair, he sighed with a grin and nodded at her, "Not frightened."

She shook her head, "Nope. I have a brother; you can't frighten me."

"I'm fairly certain I could."

"I'm fairly certain you couldn't," she challenged, and he could hear the amusement in her voice. It surprised him, coming from one so young.

Placing his hands on the table, he admitted, "You know, I think you're right."

"I am right," she told him, crossing her arms over her chest and smiling proudly.

Standing, he glanced down the hall and then back at the sound of a chair sliding back and he could see Olive making her way around the dining room to stand at his side. She plucked at his long purple coat and moved around him slowly, head rolling from one side to the other as she considered him and he chuckled.

"Why do you wear that?" She pointed up at him and then at her throat.

Tugging at his bow tie, loosening it to hand it to her, he told her, "Bow ties are cool."

Raising an eyebrow, she sighed, "I never see anyone wearing those except old guys."

Then she allowed him to wrap it around her neck as he crooked his head and told her, "Well, I am quite old."

She giggled, fingers smoothing the material hanging at her collar. And then she looked at his posture, shifting and trying to mirror it. Feet pressed together, slightly hunched, hands clasped in front of her, worried look painting her face and he smiled, watching her do the same. Olive's hand came up to cover her mouth as she burst into another small fit of giggles before she contained herself and tried to adjust to the hand motions he was doing. When he removed his Sonic, she rushed to grab a small flute off the living room floor and she wielded it carefully before pointing it down the hall when he did.

And Clara gasped as she exited the bathroom, hand coming to her chest as she watched her daughter and the Doctor lower their 'weapons' and Olive shouted, "It's just a flute, mum."

Swallowing hard and smiling, she gestured, "Your turn, monkey."

Henry exited, pulling at his pajamas and going to the Doctor, "She said to be nice."

Nodding slowly, the Doctor hesitated, then asked, "Were those her instructions for you, or for me, because honestly, I'm fairly nice most of the time. But if they're for you, I suppose I wouldn't tell her if you decided not to be, but I'd be put off just a bit."

Henry broke into a thin-lipped grin he found painfully familiar before he hopped into the living room and threw himself on the ground to play with some of the toys there. "I tend to misbehave," Henry admitted quietly when he finally moved into the living room and sat on the ground, legs crossed, in front of him.

"And why's that?" The Doctor asked him, watching the hair that flopped into his face as he pulled apart a toy and poked at the wiring inside.

Henry glanced up at him. "I think I'm just misunderstood," the boy told him with a quick nod.

"Misunderstood," the Doctor laughed, "I know that well," then he glanced at the toy, "That looks like it's one of your sister's."

"It's been broken forever, but she won't throw it away," he sighed.

Picking it up, the Doctor laid the odd doll robot in his lap and examined the inner workings before removing his Sonic and giving it a buzz. He snapped it shut and gave it another green blast before flicking the on switch and listening to it ask him, robotically, if he'd like some tea.

"Can I have one of those?" Henry asked, pulling himself up onto his knees and scooting closer to the Doctor to touch the outer casing of the Sonic he held.

With a long sigh, the Doctor explained, "This is a very dangerous device, not really for children."

The boy's lips squeezed together until they went white and he let out a breath of disappointment before falling back slightly, hands landing on his knees. He looked up at him, face almost identical to his sister's except longer, narrower; nose just a bit wider. Probably would grow to look like his father, the Doctor knew with a sad smile as he pocketed the Sonic and placed the toy on the ground.

"Are you an alien?" He asked him suddenly, just as the Doctor could hear Clara's footsteps coming down the hall.

The stared at one another and he could see the concentration scrunching up the small face that studied him before he nodded and admitted, "I am," then whispered, "But it's best we keep that a secret."

"Yeah," Henry agreed, eyes widening, "They'll want to cut you up."

"Oi," Clara exclaimed and the Doctor could see from the look on her face that she'd assumed the boy was threatening him and he stood awkwardly, just as Henry did at his side.

"Told him I was… he didn't do anything wrong."

She looked away a moment before letting Olive slip to the ground and telling them both, "Why don't you two go play in your rooms, I'll be in in a bit for bedtime stories and then it's…"

"Lights out," they both called as they skipped down the hallway towards their bedrooms.

Clara pressed her palms to her face, letting them drop away as she smiled at the Doctor, who raised his arms up, expecting her to leap into them. Imagining that this was the moment she would, the moment she thought she could, but she shifted around him and threw herself onto the couch, head leaning back against the cushions as she lifted her feet to settle them on the coffee table, glancing up when the Doctor came around to stand over her.

"Sit down," she offered with a light pat of the seat next to her.

He dropped down next to her, leaning his elbow against the couch at his side and crossing his legs towards her with a smile that she couldn't resist mirroring. Clara reached out and took his hand and she gave it a squeeze and he could see in the way she stared at the mantel over the fireplace, and in the way her fingers were giving his small strokes – she wanted to break down this wall she'd learned to put up against him over the years, but she couldn't. Her hand slipped away and it hurt him when he watched her grasp her fingers together over her stomach.

"How have you been?" She asked quietly, voice caught in her throat.

He nodded, "I've only been gone a day. So, fine, I suppose."

Clara laughed lightly, "Not years," she told him, "Just a day."

"I'm sorry," he uttered.

"Just a day and you come back into my life just like it was yesterday."

"It was yesterday."

"And, of course, they love you," she closed her eyes.

"They're wonderful children."

Clara nodded slowly and she pushed up, sitting at the edge of the couch and laying her head in her hands, elbows grinding into her knees. She glanced up at him and whispered, "Doctor, you do understand… I can't just tuck them in tonight and climb back into that life."

He shifted to plant his feet back on the carpet and inched closer to her, ducking his head slightly so he was at eye level with her. He smiled, "I understand."

Managing to pull the corners of her lips up, she watched as he rubbed at his reddening eyes with his thumb and forefinger quickly. "It's not that I don't want to," she allowed.

"I know," he said.

"I have them now and they need me."

"I can't ask you to leave them."

She cocked her head, "I won't take them with me; I won't put them in danger."

He laughed and nodded and Clara watched the tears that rolled over his cheeks as he shook his head and looked to her, telling her plainly, "I would never ask you to."

"I know how this works," she told him, "I accepted that a long time ago – you have to go find someone else; you should find someone else, because you shouldn't travel alone."

He clenched his jaw and told her, "Don't speak as if this is so easy."

"Letting go of you is _not easy_," she told him adamantly, voice not rising.

Dropping his eyes to the small space in the couch between them, he could feel his chest shaking roughly with grief as he explained, "You've had years, Clara; _I've had hours_."

"And it's still _not easy_," Clara growled, face mere inches from his.

He looked up at her and took a short breath before tilting up to bring his lips to hers, tasting her tongue on his for just a moment before she backed away and let her forehead drop to his chin before she whispered, "Doctor, you should go."

And she pulled away, standing and waiting until he picked himself off the couch and slowly walked through the front door, closing it behind himself.


	4. Chapter 4

"Give it back!" Henry shouted.

"_He gave it to me_!" Olive screeched in return.

Clara jumped up in bed, startled, and looked out through the curtain of hair in her face to see the first rays of dawn's light coming through her window. She frowned, listening to the two children across the hall continue to argue, with – she could hear – some bit of physical altercation, before she looked to her clock and cursed under her breath. She'd forgotten to set her alarm; they'd all be late.

"_Stop fighting_!" Clara bellowed, throwing her sheets back and dropping her legs over the side of the bed to stomp her way into Henry's room to find him holding something high over Olive's head and using his other hand to keep the girl at bay. "Henry!"

He looked up, surprise widening his sleepy eyes, "She started it!"

"He stole it!" Olive told her. "Waited until I'd fallen asleep and came and took it!"

Raising her hands, Clara shouted in frustration, "_What are we fighting over_!"

Both children slumped, defeated, and Henry held out his hand, offering the strip of dark fabric to Clara, who smiled quickly – a ribbon off a doll her initial thought – but when she unfurled it and realized what it was, she wrapped it quickly around three fingers several times before slipping the balled bow tie into her other hand and looking at the two. They stared at the floor sheepishly and waited and she could see Henry's face was burning, knowing he'd be in trouble again, but Clara only sighed at them both, slowly bending to her knees to look at them.

She tapped at the boy's chin with her forefinger and smiled, "I'm not mad at you."

He nodded, then looked to Olivia, "I'm sorry, I just wanted to see it."

The girl sniffled, "It's for boys anyways, you could wear it with your uniform."

Henry brightened slightly, but the hopeful straightening of his body disappeared when he looked back at his mother and asked, "Could I?"

Clara bit her lip and released it slowly, watching the way he waited. The important things to children weren't necessarily grand gestures, she knew, and she nodded quickly, feeling her eyes redden as he gave a hop before she silently told them both, "If you get dressed, have a spot of breakfast, and are ready to leave without _any more fighting_."

His brow lowered slightly in determination as he leapt towards the kitchen, opening the fridge and she could hear him shuffling items around as she looked back to Olive. Her daughter rubbed at her nose and started to walk around her, but she stopped her, pulling her into a small hug and kissing her forehead.

"That was very nice of you," she whispered.

Olive smiled up at her, "It's what you would have done, right mummy?"

Clara laughed and nodded, "Yes, it is."

The girl moved out into the kitchen and Clara stood to follow, helping pour their milk and make their toast and she left them seated across from one another on the ground in the kitchen, plates in their laps, to dress herself. She dropped the bow tie on her dresser and rushed through a shower, and then threw on the first outfit she found, going into Olive's room to find her pulling the skirt of her uniform over her legs. Henry was already working on the buttons when he stepped into the hall and Clara stopped him, undoing them and laughing.

"How many times…" she started as she worked to button his shirt.

He smacked his forehead lightly, "Match them up."

She took him by his hand into her room and sat at the edge of her bed, pulling the bow tie back into her hands with a pang of sadness. Flipping the boy's collar up, Clara worked the fabric around his neck, quickly and knowingly, and smoothed the collar back down over it, watching the grin he gave her before it fell away.

"Mummy, if it's for boys, where did you learn how to tie a bow tie?" he asked shyly.

"You think you're the first boy who needed help getting dressed in the morning," Clara answered absently.

He considered it, touching the bow tie with both hands and glanced up at her with a surprised stare before positing, "Does the Doctor need help getting dressed?"

Swallowing her words, Clara shook her head and stood, feet slipping into shoes as she pointed, "Go get your sister and wait for me, would you?"

With a nod, Henry moved out of the room and she could hear him urging the girl to stop doing ballerina twirls in her room so they could get to the car and she smiled, seeing them go running down the hallway in a chorus of stomps. Clara glanced at herself in the mirror above her dresser and she could see the wariness in her eyes and the sadness that tainted her face. She closed her eyes a moment, taking a long breath before opening them and finding a pony tail amongst the clutter in front of her and she pulled her hair up, grabbing a grey cardigan off the post at the edge of her bed and throwing it on.

"Be strong," she chided her reflection. "Be brave," she sighed, "You're the only hero they have."

She waited for the urge to cry to subside before walking swiftly towards them, giving them a large smile as she plucked her car keys and purse from a small table just inside the door and she ushered them out. Clara loaded them into the car and she stood at the driver's side door for a moment, looking up to see the blue box parked across the street just beside a tree. Her breath caught in her throat as she eyed it, seeing the normally bright sign dimmed and she opened the car door, then stopped, then looked in on the children.

They were distracted by a plastic T-Rex and a Barbie doll. "Right back," she raised a finger at them. "No fighting, right back."

"Yes mum," came the reply from both as she shut the door and crossed the street swiftly, juggling her keys before she located the right one, the one he'd never gotten a chance to take back.

Clara stepped up to the Tardis and she couldn't help the smile that overcame her, remembering with a nostalgic touch of its exterior all of the adventures she'd had because of that box. She held the key a moment, but couldn't bring herself to use it. She knew the familiar feel of that metal slipping into that lock would make it impossible to resist entering. So she closed a fist and knocked heavily before stepping away – she wouldn't step inside. She wouldn't even look.

The Doctor's head popped out and he glanced about before his eyes fell on hers, as though he expected some prankster to be fleeing, and his frown immediately drifted upwards before he steeled himself. "Hello," he told her.

Gesturing back at the car, Clara opened her mouth to speak, turning to see his collar open at his neck, a look that seemed strange for him, "You gave Olive your bow tie?" She asked.

His hand came up absently and he touched the empty space before sighing on a nod, "Yes, I guess I must have."

"Henry wanted to wear it for school," she allowed, watching the proud grin she wanted to smack, "I'll get it back to you tonight, I promise."

He waved a hand, "He can keep it," then he smiled, "Bow ties are cool, I bet he lands himself a new girlfriend at school."

Clara nodded slowly, telling him bluntly, "Or gets bullied because, while they _are_ cool, children can be monsters."

He frowned, "I could go to the school…"

She raised a hand, "No, no, that _really_ won't be necessary." She flustered and glanced back at the car, then up at the Doctor, "About last night, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"I understand," he told her.

"Stop saying that," she hissed.

"Well, I do."

"You couldn't _possibly_ understand," she told him outright. They stared at one another and she shook her head, trying to coax a grin out of her bag of motherly tricks before she repeated, "I'll bring the bow tie back tonight, Doctor."

The Doctor simply nodded, curiosity plaguing him. She pivoted and glanced each way before jogging back across to her driveway, slipping inside the vehicle and the Doctor watched as she slowed onto the street and took off. He closed the door to the Tardis and rubbed his brow. He definitely understood; things had gotten very complicated.

Stepping into the shop, she scowled at the jingle above her before moving to the register and giving Marge a forced smile. The woman snorted a laugh as she greeted her and almost immediately barked, "So what's happened now?" Clara gave a jump as she turned to look at the woman who stood, smile fading away before repeating, "Clara, what's happened?

"Alarm… didn't go off this morning is all," she waved a hand, eyes skimming over the items on the counter, the messages that blinked at her from a machine – people looking for books or knick-knacks they carried. She felt the hand warm on her wrist and for a moment she refused to look up. She listened for the sounds of customers, but the shop was empty, and Marge was staring at her.

"Clara, what's wrong?" The words were slow and carried a weight of concern she rarely heard from her boss, concern she hadn't heard in quite some time from anyone because she'd become adept at hiding away her problems from the world.

"He kissed me," she blurted at the ground, then looked up at the woman, "Why would he, after all this time; why would he do that?"

With a half-smile of confusion, Marge offered, "Honey, you need to start with the beginning, then work your way to the middle."

Clara sat on the stool beside her, feeling Marge's grip drop away, and she pushed strands of long bangs behind her ears before smiling up at the other woman, "The friend who stopped by yesterday morning out of the blue, I invited him for dinner, thought it would be nice to catch up, spend some time together. He's never met the children," she laughed, wiping at the undersides of her eyes, "But I can't, I couldn't – I was hoping it would be goodbye. A proper goodbye. We hadn't gotten the chance the last time."

"But he kissed you," Marge surmised.

With a nod, Clara explained, "We'd been… sort of _intimate_ before, and I thought, after all this time, I wouldn't feel anything if he came back, but it was like everything I'd worked so hard to forget just took the air out of me."

Marge sighed and offered, "Maybe you _need_ a good shag."

"Marge!" Clara straightened to snap.

The older woman shrugged and smiled at her, "Clara, you're a grown woman. Y'do nothing but take care of those kids of yours and it's commendable, really – you're an excellent mother – but you're still a grown woman and sometimes there are urges that need to be taken care of."

She fidgeted with her fingers in her lap before shaking her head, "I couldn't, not with him. It would be too difficult to just, fall into that…"

"You really felt something for this man, didn't you?" Marge interrupted.

Nodding, she admitted, "That's putting it lightly, yeah," before looking away. The phone rang loudly just next to the register and Marge stepped back to answer it as Clara picked up a notepad and a pen and moved to the answering machine that continued blinking at her. "Still do," she sighed to herself.


	5. Chapter 5

The Tardis was still across the street when she got home and she smiled at it with a shake of her head as she slipped her key into the lock. Clara reached out to try and strip the bow tie off her son as she opened the door, but he'd already bounced in past her towards his room. Clara frowned, locking the door behind her and depositing her purse and keys on the table. She went down the hall and leaned on the door frame, watching him dumping out the contents of a Lego box onto the carpeting before beginning to assemble what she knew, automatically, would be his own Sonic screwdriver.

With a sigh, she decided to leave him be for now and she moved back into the kitchen to start on dinner, kicking her shoes off as she entered. It had been a long day, and she was ready to crawl into her bed, just after her children, and sleep as long as possible. Of course, the exhaustion meant that just as soon as she'd given them both baths and had put them into their beds, she'd fallen asleep on the couch to the local news, bow tie gripped loosely between her hands.

Olive crept slowly down the hallway, tying her robe tightly to her body before peering into the living room to see her mother fast asleep, laid long-ways on the couch. She moved to the front door, flicking the lock and gripping the handle. She turned it slowly and was immediately blinded by a flash of light, but a hand came over her mouth before she could scream and she found herself looking at Henry, who lowered the light and stood in his own robes, smiling devilishly at her.

"You were gonna sneak out," he told her.

"So were you," she pointed.

"I was following you," he corrected, "You can't blame me for this one."

Olive smiled and told him plainly, "Yes, actually, I could – and I'm not the one always causing a _ruckus_ at school so guess who mum will believe."

"You're…" he started, searching for the right word before settling on, "Where were you going?"

"Blue box across the street."

"The Doctor's box," Henry offered.

She nodded, "Do you think he lives inside of that box?"

"It's quite small for a grown man."

"It's quite small for us," Olive laughed.

She finished the turn on the knob and they both stepped outside, shivering slightly as the night air slipped under the robes. Closing the door behind them, they took each other's hands and rushed quickly to the edge of the driveway before glancing down the street in either direction and then ran across, sloshing through the moist grass on the small lot that held a pond, a set of swings, and a handful of old trees. They both stood in front of the box and then walked to either side of it, coming back around to the front before Henry lifted a hand to knock.

The right door swung open slowly before he could and they both jumped away, expecting the Doctor to be there, but there was nothing but silence and darkness, dimly lit blue in places. Henry stepped inside, turning and taking Olive's hand to lead her in and they closed the door behind them, glancing up at the large space inside before smiling.

"He's a magician," Henry spat, "I knew it."

"It's like its own world," Olive observed, making her way up the ramp to the center console. "Where do you suppose he is?"

"Probably asleep, like mum," Henry supplied with a shrug as he stepped up to the knobs and levers. Reaching up, he clicked one, listening to the room hum angrily before Olive tugged him away. "What?" He spat in her direction.

"Don't _touch_ things!"

"You sound like mum," he told her.

She shook her head at him and then grabbed the flashlight from him, shining it around the room and looking towards a hallway, "I think there's more," she pointed.

"Let's look," Henry replied with a grin.

"Just a few minutes," Olive said quietly, "See if we find him."

Clara woke to the soft knocking on the front door and she shifted on the couch, glaring at the television, some infomercial advertising miracle laundry detergent was urging her to call now to double her order. With a small sigh, she told herself she'd just imagined the knock and she sat up, flicking off the television and rubbing at her eyes. She ran her hands through her hair before she heard it again, just to her right, and she could see a large form through the frosted glass.

Standing slowly, she heard a loud whisper, "Clara, it's me."

She chuckled quietly, dragging herself up the step to the door and opening it, finger hesitating on the undone lock, trying to work out how it had become undone and how long it had been undone, when she turned her attention to the man standing before her with one of her children on each arm. They were both asleep, heads resting on his shoulders and he looked anxious as he stood in front of her, waiting for her to acknowledge him because she was still staring, mind not quite catching up.

"I found them huddled together just outside of the library, fallen asleep – it's possible they'd gotten lost in the Tardis," he explained. "I doubted you'd given them permission to come across at this hour."

Clara reached up swiftly, taking hold of Henry and the Doctor loosened his grip for her to flip the child against her, letting his head fall over onto her shoulder, as she turned to return him to his bed. "You let them in the Tardis," she whispered harshly at him.

Closing the door, he pressed a hand to Olive's back and followed her, telling Clara quickly, "I didn't let them in!"

"You making it a habit to leave the door open, then?" She asked, keeping her voice at a whisper as she half turned, "Because that's _incredibly_ dangerous!"

He recoiled slightly from the face she'd given him and rubbed the sleeping child's back, suddenly sympathetic to them both, before telling her, "I don't leave the door _unlocked_; that's why you have a_ key_."

"Well, my _keys_ were on the table, and besides, _they don't know_ that I have it."

Clara bent to lay Henry down on the bottom bunk of his bed and she tugged at his sheets, pulling them over his body as he turned sideways, curling his fists underneath his chin and bringing his knees up slightly, mumbling something to himself. She smiled, shifting back and the Doctor moved a step up the ladder and lifted the sheets back with his free hand before laying Olive in the top bunk.

"You know this isn't her room," Clara grinned, watching him tuck the child in carefully.

"What's the point of a bunk bed – which is a brilliant choice, by the way – if you don't use them every once in a while?" He smoothed the dark hair away from the sleeping child's face and sighed before stepping down and standing in front of Clara, raising a hand to straighten his own hair as he awkwardly looking to the ceiling.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, gesturing at the children, "They must have seen me go over this morning and got curious, and I was so tired I fell asleep – usually…" she sighed, "They know better than to wander about unattended."

"I'm sure they do."

"And they chose to disturb you, after I pointedly told them not to."

"Clara," he laughed, "It's fine."

She closed her eyes as she shook her head and sighed, "No, it's not. You shouldn't be bothered…"

"They're no bother," he assured.

"…with my life," she finished sadly.

Tilting his head slightly, he wished he could tell her that nothing about her life would ever be a bother to him, but he suspected she'd fallen asleep again. He saw her eyes blinking open forcefully and he smiled, glancing at the two children before looking back at Clara, allowing himself to fully register the fact that she was their mother and he had a decision to make: engrain himself into their lives, and promise himself he would remain there…

Or leave.

He suspected neither would come without consequences. Neither decision would be neat, or easy, or wouldn't cause one of them pain – if not all of them – but looking from one face to the next, he knew it wasn't fair for him to stumble about in anger hoping to rekindle something in a way it could never be again. Clara couldn't be his companion, but she could be his friend. He could be the odd uncle who stopped by once a week to help with science projects or doll repair. Or he could be that man who slipped in and out of their lives.

The least damage done.

He watched as she stood on the spot, breathing light, and he reached up to touch her shoulder, rubbing his thumb over it and she stepped into him, laying her head at his chest. Clara listened to his heartbeats and closed her eyes, taking a long breath to inhale his scent – that odd mix of clean linen and spacey-ness she'd never quite put a finger on – as she relaxed in his embrace.

The Doctor wrapped his arms around her, cheek finding the top of her head and he swayed slightly, knowing she was calming, returning to the woman who sought his comfort and understood he would do everything in his power to keep her – and her children – safe. He couldn't just walk out of her life again. Not unless she told him to and he suspected that was something she was incapable of doing… and that thought both reassured and worried him.

"Clara?" He questioned, head tilting to look down at the closed eyes and the long steady breaths and he laughed, picking her up into his arms delicately and moving into her room.

He sat her down at the edge and pulled back the sheets, carefully letting her fall sideways onto her pillow before lifting her feet to shift the covers over them. She sighed and he glanced at the clock beside the bed, flicking a switch to make sure she woke on time the next morning and he turned, leaving the house and locking the front door with his Sonic before slowly making his way back to the lonely Tardis.


	6. Chapter 6

Friday was uneventful and Clara was grateful. She'd chosen not to discuss the children's little field trip over to the Tardis, but both knew she knew and had gone about their morning routine quietly, occasionally glancing up in her direction. And neither stepped a toe out of line until they arrived at school, climbing over the seats to kiss her good-bye before they rushed into the building. Clara laughed to herself as she went to work, where again, thankfully, nothing was amiss.

Marge left her to her Friday groups, the two morning sessions for mothers and their toddlers where she sprung about animatedly and watched the small chubby faces that giggled up at her. Then the trip over to the elder's home after a quick bite to eat where she read for an hour before returning to the shop to find the woman raising a hand towards her to exclaim, "Good, you're back. Mind the shop, lock up when you leave."

Clara laughed, dropping her purse to her palm, "Where are you going?"

"Hot date tonight," Marge smirked, face tucking bashfully as she passed her. Then she turned, "Any word from your man friend?"

She smiled and warned, "Marge."

The older woman raised her hands with a laugh and escaped out the front door, leaving Clara in the shop with, she could see, a handful of patrons perusing the aisles. And one lanky figure in an unmistakable purple suit that slipped behind mysteries and dramas, hoping not to be seen.

"Come on," Clara called. "I can see you there."

The Doctor popped his head out from behind the aisle and grinned easily, gliding up to lean against the counter before glancing about, "So this is where you work?"

"Yup," she replied, hopping onto the stool and tossing her purse underneath the desk he was now examining with a look of concentration that made her giggle. "Doctor, it's a countertop. Wood. Varnish. Quite a bit of elbow grease, and sneezes."

He made a face, fingers coming away with a flicker, "Marge mentioned your man friend?"

She pointed, "That would be you."

The Doctor beamed slightly, "I'm the man friend," he chuckled, repeating to himself, "Man friend."

Clara glanced outside and questioned, "I didn't see the Tardis coming in, where did you park it?"

"I walked," he told her quietly.

"Walked?" She laughed, "My house is…" Confusion plagued her as she finished, "Miles away, _you walked_?"

"Tardis is grounded," he supplied with an air of frustration.

"I suppose she deserves the punishment," Clara allowed, chin coming up slightly in amusement.

She watched his finger drag over an assortment of bookmarks that hung just next to the register before glancing up at her, mouth coming open in a gleeful smile. "What do you do?"

Clara cheerfully greeted a man who dropped a book at the counter as the Doctor shifted sideways. She scanned his purchase, had a quick conversation about the novel's contents – she hadn't read it and, apparently, it was the twelfth in a series that the man urged her to pick up – and charged his card before watching him depart. Clara then turned to the Doctor, "I work."

"Until when?"

She pulled up her watch and sighed, "Five."

"Five," he repeated, looking at his watch.

"Still two hours more," she supplied.

Doing a quick turn, he shook his head, "You're missing the children."

"The children can't come to work with me," she whispered.

"But it's books!" He told her, raising his arms, "How are children not allowed?"

Clara laughed at the way his face dropped with disappointment. "They're not _not_ _allowed_, I just can't have my children on the job with me."

He nodded, then asked, "Where are they?"

"Afterschool care," she told him absently, bringing up a box to start sorting the beaded bracelets inside.

With a scowl, he continued, "How long do they have to be there?"

"Five," she told him.

He looked over the items in her hands and then around at the store before telling her, "Doesn't seem like you have much to do, I don't see why they couldn't just be here with you."

With a tilt of her head, she offered, "Not the way the world works, Doctor."

He pointed, "The world doesn't work very well."

She smiled, "I agree." Then she watched him as he leaned against the counter and looked out over the collections of novels and comics and she tapped his shoulder, "Doctor, _technically speaking_, I can't have my friends hanging about either."

The thought seemed off-putting and he pushed off the counter, gesturing at himself. "I take it I'm to leave, then?"

"Unless you're buying books," she suggested.

His shoulders slumped slightly, "I've read it all."

"All, the whole store?" Clara exclaimed, voice coming up as customers glanced in her direction before she quietly apologized and bent to meet his gaze. "You've read the whole store?"

"Well," he raised a hand, "Not today – I've got most of these in my library."

Shaking her head, she lifted a hand to the door, "Go."

She watched him as his body slouched in defeat before going to the door and opening it, stepping outside and then knocking on the window. Clara smiled as he pointed at his watch and raised an open hand, mouthing "five". She nodded, tapping her own watch before he looked both ways down the sidewalk three times before settling on going left and she slid off the stool, concerned, but he came walking back, pointing his fingers in the opposite direction as she nodded and pointed. Clara gave a long sigh and turned back to the shop.

She'd never realized just how quiet it truly was.

Opening her front door, she turned to the sound of a car pulling into her driveway and she smiled when she saw her father waving at her through the windshield. Underneath her, both children gave small shouts of glee and wrestled their way out of her grasp to rush to the opening driver's side door, attacking the man before he could fully stand. Clara could hear him greeting them, exclamations of what they'd done in school that day flowing from their lips as she waited.

"Hello, darling," Dave Oswald called, giving her a wave as he lifted Olive into the air and closed his door, taking Henry's hand to lead them back to where she waited. He kissed her cheek and she hugged him tightly, lingering for what she knew was far too long.

"Hi, daddy," she whispered in his ear.

Pulling away, he gave her a look of curiosity, studying her, and instead of asking anything in front of the children, he suggested, "Take it it's been a long day."

"Long week," she uttered, hand coming up to rub at her forehead as Henry began yanking his grandfather inside the house, complaining that the man was too heavy.

"Budge in, gramps!" He called up, and the man laughed.

"Henry!" Clara declared.

Eyebrows rising in amusement, Dave told Clara, "Thinks he's a proper little man, doesn't he."

"He's rude," Olive offered.

"Olive!" Clara cried with a smile.

The girl shrugged her shoulders and gestured at him as if to imply she weren't wrong. And, Clara knew, she sort of wasn't, but he was also a six year old boy. They weren't _rude_, so to speak, they just were. At least, that's what she'd learned over the years. Her father resigned himself to being dragged into the house and Clara shut the door behind them, passing a glance at the blue box across the street knowing he'd be inside, staring at his watch, wondering just how long he should wait before it was acceptable for him to pop over.

"Are they packed up?" Dave asked.

Clara's eyes rose to meet his as the children dashed towards their rooms, "What?"

He smiled, "This is my weekend – your weekend, really," he corrected with a laugh, "– and you're usually all packed up with a list of things they need to get done, or medicines I need to give them, or activities you've looked up on the internet for me to take them to," he came to stand in front of her, hand coming up to cup her cheek, "Clara, are you alright?"

Nudging into his hand, she closed her eyes and reached forward to hug him again, "Ever wish you were still a little kid and everyone would take care of everything for you?"

Dave held his daughter and sighed into her hair, "You're doing a really good job of making me anxious here, kiddo."

She laughed, shifting back and blinking away the beginnings of tears before admitting, "The Doctor came back on Wednesday."

Her father's face fell into a frown and he uttered quietly, "Think he's a few years late, isn't he?"

Clara nodded, then shrugged, "The machine had a glitch?"

"So, can I punch the machine for breaking your heart?" Dave asked her, voice dropping as the children came rushing down the hallway to latch onto his legs and he smiled down at them before hissing at Clara, "Don't you dare let him break theirs."

She shook her head, listening to them squealing as they bounced before allowing, "These two are perfectly under my protection."

He nodded to the door, "And you were supposed to be under his."

"Dad," she muttered, "Not his fault, what happened after he left."

"Ain't it?" Dave hissed, "Before him you weren't the sort to step out with strange men and…"

"DAD!" Clara shouted, eyes darting down to the children now looking up at them both with looks of concern – it was rare to see their mother and grandfather fight, they knew. "Come on," she told them, "Up and into your rooms, pick whatever clothes you want for the weekend, get your travel bags ready." Her smile was fake, but bright, and they both darted away. Clara waited until they'd both crossed the thresholds of their rooms before turning and lifting a finger, "The sort of woman I became had very little to do with him. I've always taken that on myself. My _mistakes_; my _responsibilities_. _Don't ever_ insinuate that _some man_ has that much power over me."

Dropping his head, Dave pressed his palms to his waist. Then he looked back up at her, at the red burning her eyes, and he gave her a forced smile, "I commend you for it all, Clara, I've always been proud of the way you've raised these kids – you're stronger than anyone ever gave you credit for, but don't pretend like _that man leaving_ wasn't the catalyst for what your life is now."

"And what's wrong with my life?" She laughed, eyes widening. "I have a home, I have a job, I have two wonderful children..."

Dave inhaled sharply and spat, "You're alone, Clara," before moving around her to help Henry and Olive pack their bags.

She stood in the hall a moment, feeling the warm droplets that rolled off her chin before she wiped them away, shifting the dimmer down on the lights a touch when she heard them coming towards the front door, both rolling their small suitcases behind them, laughing and chatting between them. She heard her father tell them something about camping in the yard that they both cheered about and she bent slightly, giving them both hugs and kissing their cheeks before straightening, looking down at them as they smiled expectantly up at her.

"Have fun with grandpa," she told them, watching their eyes disappear in their excitement as they walked to the front door Dave was holding open.

Clara turned slowly and met her father's eyes, watched them flicker away. Moving to stand in the doorway, she watched him lift their suitcases into the trunk while they climbed into the back seat and she waved as the car drifted back slowly and then drove away. The Tardis stood across the street, the idiot inside unexpectedly patient, and Clara grabbed her keys.


	7. Chapter 7

Clara tried not to let her father's word hurt her. She'd spent quite some time listening to the whispers of others about her. The dates and dangerous affairs in the Doctor's immediate absence had gained her curious looks around town from people who knew her better than that. During her pregnancy there were the questions – where was the father? Who was the father? Did she even know? Why was this _poor girl_ suffering through this alone? And then came the accusations – serves her right for her promiscuity! No father on the paperwork, scandalous! How could she have not seen this coming, the way she was behaving.

_It's always the quiet ones_.

The day she first held them both in her arms, watched them yawn and squeak and reach out at nothing in the air, that was when she told herself she had to stop letting what others though affect her. She's gotten on just fine in life up to that point and she'd do just fine afterwards. Clara ignored what she could and she talked about what she wanted to and if people couldn't accept it, she turned away from them and continued lived her life because it was all she could do.

And eventually things worked out.

She didn't give any of it a second thought because if she stopped, at all, she would unravel and she couldn't because Henry and Olive were always there to remind her that there was more to life than her pain, and she was _never_ alone. There were their smiles and their laughter and their silly fights and jokes. Their hugs and their funny faces and their love. So Clara steeled herself against the criticism and took them as challenges. And now she moved swiftly across the street, glancing up at the darkening skies peppered with pink clouds and she wondered if this was the right decision.

Was this a step backwards? Letting him linger at the fringe of her life when she should have dismissed him the second he'd returned? Could she survive if he left again? Did she have a choice in the matter? Clara gripped the keys in her hands and stood in front of the box, looking over the street to make sure others weren't watching and she held the key to the edge of the lock, seeing the silver bits watch one another as she listened to the pounding of her heart in her ears.

Clara pushed the key in and exhaled, turning it slowly and then leaning on the blue wooden frame just underneath the St John's Ambulance sticker. She stepped inside, twisting the key loose before shutting the door behind her and looking around at the scarcely lit console, eyes slowly becoming accustomed to the darkness.

"Doctor?" She called.

She heard him chuckle softly from somewhere nearby and she made out the shape of his shoulders shifting as he straightened and then stood, going to the console to hit a few switches that illuminated one ring of lights around the main room, just enough light for them to see one another. Clara crossed her arms at her chest and took a few tentative steps up towards him, listening to the old clink of her shoes against the metal and smiling involuntarily.

She'd dreamt about that ship and all of their adventures together.

"I didn't want to…" he trailed, lifting a hand in her direction. "I saw your father."

"He was picking the kids up; once a month they spend the weekend with him," Clara told him with a nod, "Works out well enough, I get a break, could even go on a date if I chose to."

The Doctor smiled when he glanced up at her, seeing the smirk on her lips. "Would you like to?"

"What?" She prompted knowingly.

He turned and leaned sideways against the controls as he crossed his own arms, "A date. You and I?"

She laughed, head tilting upwards before she admitted, "It's been a long time since I've been on a date."

"How long?" He asked with a nod, trying not to sound too hurt.

"Since a proper one?" She laughed, waiting for his nod before telling him, "This _insane man_ took me to Venus," she hesitated before continuing, "And then we had dinner."

"And then…" he trailed, looking to the floor bashfully.

Clara couldn't help the blush that stained her own cheeks thinking back on that night and that empty house as she watched him touch at knobs and keys without pressing or turning. "How long have you been parked here?" She asked.

"Since Wednesday," he responded sadly.

"Oh, Doctor, _if I know you_, you're about ready to go mad," she laughed, but when she looked at his face, it was troubled. His frown was long and the wrinkles at his brow seemed more pronounced, and she registered his age – a rarity – and his sadness. And his dilemma – he was truly frightened by the notion that he'd intended to come back the next week and missed… by too much.

His mouth lifted slightly before he shook his head, "Maybe standing still is good every once in a while; gives one a chance to think."

"What have you been thinking about?" Clara took a step closer, hand coming up to find a familiar spot on the console as she glanced up at the unlit center.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there when I said I would be," he uttered.

"Doctor, that's not your fault – I've told you before," she gestured up, "She doesn't like me."

His palm hit the space in front of him roughly and she jumped. Turning, he chided, "Don't make this some joke to try and dismiss the pain it must have caused you."

"What do you want me to do?" Clara cried, "I'm trying to move past that, to accept that you weren't at fault – that you _aren't_ at fault – and let you back in. Do you understand how difficult that is for me?"

He glanced up once before nodding, "I couldn't promise you that it wouldn't happen again." He stood straight and glared at her, "Eventually I'll travel, might pick up a new companion from time to time, and stop in, check on you and the children, but one day – one day might be a bit farther into the future than I'd intended and it would be set in stone, that meeting. We'll have lost that time again."

Clara dropped her arms and then raised a hand towards him, "Then we make no commitments. No set dates, no arrangement for you to miss. You just come, whenever you can – as often as you can – and we enjoy what it is, when it is, for however long it is."

His eyes closed and smiled, body slipping backwards slightly as if he'd been struck in the chest, before he looked up at her and nodded, "No commitments," he agreed.

With a slight grin, she shifted closer to him, fingers clasping together in front of her as she stared up at him. The same beautiful face that had, _just days ago_, lead him by the hand towards her bedroom with devious intentions, anxiously waited for him to release the tension in his shoulders before declaring, "Let's go somewhere… awesome."

The Doctor laughed, turning slightly, about to inquire about the children – because he assumed she'd wanted to travel in the Tardis – when he heard her footsteps racing out of the Tardis. The Doctor jerked slightly, moving swiftly over the ramp towards the open front door to find her standing on the grass just outside.

Pointing two fingers back towards his ship, he asked, "I presume we're not _travelling_ travelling."

Clara shook her head and her brow came down as her lips twisted and then she reached out to take his hand and pull him towards her car, "Come on."

"Where…" he started.

"It's perfect for you," she told him, running into her house for her purse before undoing the lock on the car door with a grunt and a tug, and then unlocking the passenger side door to let him in, taking pleasure in seeing his tall figure squeezing into the small vehicle. "The kids love it."

Giving her a suspicious glare, he buckled his seat belt and settled his hands atop his knees as she began driving. It seemed odd to him, ordinary travel. He didn't mind a wayward walk, or the occasional motorbike, but a car… a car that was most definitely not bigger on the inside, gave him pause. He flicked the violet scented plastic flowers hanging from her rear view mirror and glanced backwards to see the booster seats on either side, and the small assortment of toys scattered about with a smile.

"I always thought it was funny that when we first met, we managed to fly in a plane and ride on a motorbike in the same hour," she supplied, small grin tugging at her lips. "Every so often I have to drive near the Shard building, still gives me shivers."

The Doctor laughed, "Seems so long ago."

"Well," she sighed, giving him a quick rise of an eyebrow before turning left.

He watched her study the traffic, mind automatically taking the turns to this familiar place, and he reached out to take the hand lying passively on her thigh. Clara smiled at him and she gave his fingers a squeeze before slipping out of his grasp to place both hands on the wheel and his eyes found the dashboard because there was a time she would never have let go.

The car stopped and he gapped slightly, eyes wide and finger pointed up, "It has a clown on the roof that lights up and spins!"

Clara laughed and nodded, dropping her keys into her purse before shifting out of the car and going around to wait for him. When he'd emerged, still staring up at the brightly colored adornment atop the corner store, she told him plainly, "Fifty flavors of ice cream, dozens of toppings, and hot dogs."

"Fifty," he beamed, then glared down at her, "Can I mix them?"

She raised her fingers, "Three choices."

And he considered it as she took his arm and led him towards a window where he stared up at the board behind the staff, comically reading off combinations before shaking his head to reconsider. Clara watched the staff, perplexed, yet amused, and she understood perfectly as he settled on peanut butter, chocolate mint, and cotton candy – with a banana – and a variety of toppings she would never have allowed her children to order while she stuck with vanilla and a squirt of fudge. She gestured towards the tables set outside, but she watched him approach a small set of rocking horses on springs, climbing atop the one across a small boy.

Still as ridiculous as ever, she knew as she waited for their order.

The Doctor shifted off the horse and moved towards a table, knowing Clara wouldn't join him on the other horse – he supposed her time for such frivolity had come to an end, as humans liked to think. He heard a sharp intake of breath and turned swiftly, thinking someone, maybe Clara, were in trouble, but he found himself on the receiving end of a fist to his face and as he fell to the ground, he heard her shout out, "Artie!"


	8. Chapter 8

"What'd you think," the boy – now a young man – spat in his face, "Walk back in here and pluck her out of her life again. _Destroy her again_."

"Artie, no!" Clara cried, running towards them with ice cream in both hands and a look of terror on her face as she placed both down and pulled him off of the Doctor, fingers gripping his shoulders, "Artie, stop!"

He scowled at Clara, and the Doctor watched the pain that fluttered over Artie's face as he looked to Clara and then down at the Doctor and then back at Clara, telling her, "And you! D'you forget? Been that long you forgot what happened when he abandoned you."

Dropping her head slightly, Clara shifted when Artie shrugged out of her grasp. "Artie," she hissed, looking about at the patrons now watching, "I haven't forgotten anything."

"Then what're you doing here with him?" He raised a hand to the Doctor, now coming to stand beside Clara, hand on his jaw. "What'd you come back for?" Artie shouted at him.

Clara moved to stand between them and Artie's eyes widened slightly. "Go home, Artie," she told him lowly.

"Clara," he pleaded.

"Artie," she repeated, head tilting slightly and coming up.

The boy leaned in closer to her and muttered something the Doctor couldn't hear and she shook her head, before Artie closed his eyes and told her with a scowl, "Guess I'll send Angie over in a couple days, 'cause I won't hold your hand again when he's gone."

The Doctor stiffened his body as the boy walked by, shoulder butting heavily into his and when he turned back, Clara had dropped onto the closest seat, touching the edge of his enormous bowl of ice cream, and she smiled up at him.

"If you sit down, people will stop staring," she told him knowingly.

Actually, he considered, she'd spoken with an air of familiarity that he understood meant she'd gone through her fair share of public embarrassment and the questions he had threatened to bubble over as he glanced around, at the silence and the eyes that didn't seem to faze her. Clara was pushing a spoon into each of their dishes, scooping from hers to bring to her lips calmly.

She met his eyes again and gestured down and he sat, hands on either side of his ice cream before he supplied, "Seems a bit rougher than I remember."

Clara smiled weakly, "He's protective of me."

"Protective," he repeated, poking at his ice cream several times to mix the peanut bits, chocolate sprinkles and coconut shavings through the flavors, the chocolate syrup, strawberry chunks, caramel sauce, and the banana. "Possibly not the word I'd have used."

She leaned forward, touching his chin delicately to turn it to look at the red welts the boy's fist had left as she grimaced. "When you didn't return, I was a bit distraught." She shrugged, "They consoled me as best they could, Angie and Artie, so I imagine, not knowing what happened, he sees you again and thinks you think nothing of it all." He opened his mouth to reply, but she shook her head, laughing, "Be glad it wasn't Mr. Maitland, or my dad."

Stomach sinking, he picked the ice cream up and pressed the edge of the bowl to his face, eyes closing against the cold at his jaw. He could hear her taking small bites as the noise level around them returned to normal before he looked at her and asked, "Distraught?"

She shook her head. "This isn't really the place," she offered.

With a nod, he understood – they wouldn't be having this conversation here, and when they got back, she'd conveniently change the subject. She didn't want to discuss it and he wouldn't press the matter, at least for now, because he knew how badly it must have hurt her, thinking he'd simply discarded her after everything they'd done together. Lowering the ice cream, he took a large swipe with his spoon and ate it, eyes crushing together when his forehead froze and he heard her laughing across from him, the most wonderful sound, as he opened his eyes and grinned goofily.

"Slow down there," she sighed, "Henry does the same; always in such a rush to gobble it up."

"I suppose Olive takes after you," he nodded, still wincing slightly.

She smiled, "She does – _she's_ patient – and she takes absolute pleasure in teasing her brother as he's sitting there with his palms pressed against his head."

"Don't take _so much_ pleasure," he replied as she chuckled.

"So," she asked lightly, "Where will you go? I know you can't sit in that box in the park forever."

He shrugged, considering the entire universe before telling her, "Would it be alright if I didn't go anywhere for a bit?"

"What?" She asked, "Stay on Earth?"

With a shrug, he allowed, "Earth can be _fantastic_."

"Yeah, seein' as it's home," she smiled, "I suppose I wouldn't _mind_, so long as you wouldn't lose yours."

"No monks about; no danger of becoming headless."

Clara stared at him a moment before telling him honestly, "I missed you saying ridiculous things like that."

The Doctor smiled. "It's not ridiculous if you've met the headless monks."

"And that," she nodded.

They finished their ice cream, the Doctor detailing the headless monks for her while she occasionally touched her throat and swallowed hard, eyes glazing over as she imagined the group he spoke of. She took their empty bowls to a trash bin and when she returned, she found him staring up at her, satisfied grin on his face. Clara felt her insides turn with an excitement she hadn't felt in a long time as she approached him, rummaging through her purse for a wet towelette before taking his chin and shifting it, wiping at the ice cream that gave him a pink, green, and brown mustache above his thin upper lip and when she moved away, his lips opened, smile spreading.

"I would say I've missed this," he told her quietly, "But it was only a few days ago you were taking sea suds out of my hair and calling me foolish for jumping into the foam."

"Ocean planet," she shook her head. "I'd like to see a _clean_ planet."

He glanced at the stars, "Plenty out there. Of course, _clean_ doesn't necessarily mean _safe_."

Clara nodded sadly and told him, "Nothing out there is _safe_."

Wrapping the towelette in her hand, she went back to chuck it in the bin before walking towards her car, calling out to him as he sat, lost in the twinkling lights overhead. He forgot sometimes how simplistic it all seemed from Earth. How little the inhabitants of a planet knew about the magnificence around them as they went about their lives. He walked to Clara as she turned the engine over and he hoped she hadn't lost that in this life of hers. He hoped she told her children tales of the stars and the adventures in the sky.

But, he knew she hadn't.

They didn't know him.

He was the stranger who showed up and beamed at their mother. He was probably also the thing that made her cry at night sometimes when she thought they'd gone to bed. That question in their minds they hadn't learned to ask. The Doctor slipped into the car with a sigh and she glanced sideways at him, curiosity plaguing her, but they both remained silent as she drove. The car came to a stop in her driveway and she moved out without a word, going to open her front door as the Doctor pushed his palms into his pockets and began to walk back to the Tardis.

"Hey," Clara called, waiting for him to turn at the edge of the driveway, "Where are you going?"

He pointed, "Tardis?"

She waved a hand and he made his way up the driveway and stood just a step under her on the front porch, smiling because she was still shorter and she grinned because she knew what he was thinking. "Next time I'll be expecting dinner," she teased. And she stepped on tip toe and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, dropping back down and giggling quietly to herself as she looked away.

The Doctor lifted a hand to her face, fingers diving into the loose hair that hung over her shoulders and he stroked over her ear with his thumb, watching the smile that melted off her face as he bent slowly to kiss her properly. This time not abruptly, but leisurely, nudging her nose with his to ask her permission and when she tilted her head up, he understood he was allowed. Welcomed, even, and he touched his lips to hers delicately, pulled her bottom lip between his a moment before deepening the kiss as she brought her hands to his waist at either side just under his coat.

Clara bumped the door wide open behind her and moved backwards, bringing him in with her and she heard him kick the door shut, free hand rising and she could hear the Sonic flick her lock as they stumbled slightly, working their way towards the hall. Shifting, she gasped when her back collided with the wall just outside of Henry's bedroom and the Doctor's mouth dropped to her neck and for a moment she was terrified he might lead her to the bunk beds when he leaned back and grinned darkly down at her, but he simply lifted her, laughing when she shouted, and rushed towards her bedroom.

Setting her down just inside, the Doctor bent to catch her lips again and could feel her hands undoing the buttons of his shirt before she slipped her palms underneath his coat at the shoulders. He let it fall away and dropped the Sonic atop it, stepping away and finding the zipper at the back of her dress. Clara tugged his shirt out from his pants as his hands caressed the skin at her back and she sighed against his open mouth, feeling as though she might explode with every trail of his fingertip over her.

She pulled the suspenders off his shoulders, letting them fall to his thighs and then worked at the button to his trousers before releasing his lips to glance down as she tucked her hands into the back of his loosened pants, holding his waist and pressing kisses into his chest because she was feeling dizzy and needed to slow down. She glanced up when she felt his palms smooth her hair down and his lips at the top of her head. And then she moved away, dropping the dress and stepping out of it to approach him again, this time paced and considered.

He grasped the pale skin of her shoulders and then slipped his hands to her sides, settling his fingertips in the waistband of her underwear. "Clara," he whispered, "For me this was just days ago." Because to him this felt natural, but to her – so many years later – he couldn't know what this meant to her and he didn't want to burden her with regret, but she smiled.

"For me it's been too long," she replied breathlessly, tilting her head up and brushing her lips over his before tugging him towards her bed, falling onto it gently in his arms.


	9. Chapter 9

**_Warning: Skip to the line to remain in a PG-13 version._**

Clara closed her eyes against the feel of his open shirt brushing lightly over her skin, sending jolts through her body, and she moaned softly as his mouth worked its way over her flesh. She'd forgotten how it felt, having someone who knew her well enough to know that a nibble at her right side would elicit laughter where one just inside her left thigh would lift her backside off the bed just long enough for him to slip her out of the last bits of clothes. Reaching out, she managed to grab hold of his hair, pulling him back up slowly, breathing erratic as he continued to lap knowingly at her skin, and smiled at the look he gave her when he finally met her eyes.

Drunk with love and eagerness.

She took a breath, his hand still at her waist, thumb swaying gently as he waited, and Clara nodded shortly, tugging at his shirt to bring him back down on her. And she sighed because everything inside of her that was screaming that this was a terrible idea wasn't nearly as loud as her heart, demanding every ounce of him as close to her as possible. She gripped at his back, laughing mutedly into his shoulder as he struggled out of his pants and kicked them aside, giving her an accomplished grin before nuzzling into her neck again, nipping at her ear because he _absolutely_ knew it made her gasp.

Clara lost herself in every touch, every movement, every little whisper, and every chuckle that escaped him, and she found herself weeping silently as they rocked slowly together, holding onto him as if he might slip away on a breeze or a breathe, or disappear completely – like some dream. She let out an unexpected cry when she felt his release, knew she was right on his heel and she didn't want it because she didn't want it to end. Ending meant he'd eventually pull his clothes back on and cross that street and who knew.

Who knew what would happen then.

Would it be like before? The promise of so much as she stood on the Maitland's front step at dawn, kissing him good bye, telling him she had to go – she had to pick the family up at the airport – and knowing in her heart he'd be back one week later… and then he wasn't. The emptiness she felt every Wednesday for months that faded to a dull ache up until the moment he opened her car door just three days ago.

With a pained sob as he urged her on, Clara wrapped her arms around his shoulders and squeezed his sides with her knees as her own convulsions rolled out over her body and left her heaving for air against the soft brown hair that tickled her nose. She watched him shift back, brow tightened with fear as he looked over her reddened face and her tears. The Doctor brushed her hair away, kissing each burning cheek and shook his head.

"Clara?"

She refused to answer, giving him a smile and a nod of her head to try and let him know he'd done nothing wrong. She could see he was concerned he'd hurt her, and she knew there was no way to explain the ways in which he had because she couldn't blame him for a mistake his ship made. So she merely tightened her grip on him, bringing him back down so that his chest crushed hers and she sighed against the weight of his body on hers and whispered, "I've missed you so."

* * *

The Doctor watched her drift to sleep, his knuckles sliding up from her chin over her jaw line and stopping at the trail of dried tears. He laid his head down against the pillow and frowned as she took a long breath and exhaled it, cheek nudging itself into her own pillow as one of her hands came up to curl at her neck, the other reached out absently for his. Slipping his fingers around hers, he watched the small smirk that touched her lips and he sighed a soft laugh.

"Oh, Clara," he whispered.

He brushed the fingers of his left hand over her dark hair, eyes closing a moment at the feel of it flowing over his skin, and then he laid his hand on her, cradling her head. The temptation to crawl into her mind, to pull out those memories of the days and weeks after his departure was growing darkly and he removed his palm, sliding it under the covers to curl around her waist, pulling her closer to him. She made a noise of confusion, brow coming together, hand coming up and fanning out to feel his chest before she settled.

"I would re-write time for you," he told her softly. "But it would come at the loss of your children," he smiled, "Your world for mine; a sacrifice I would never make."

He could feel the tears that threatened to spill over and he shifted away from her, turning to sit up at the edge, looking towards the window before standing and wrapping himself in a throw he found on a chest at the end of the bed. Staring down at her, one hand extended into the open space he'd been occupying, he frowned and moved out through the house in the silence of night.

Olive's room was filled with dolls and stuffed animals and all of the frivolities of little girls. He could see she had tool skirts of every color peeking out from the closet and various places. Scattered amongst crayons, little bracelets and necklaces covered a small desk that sat next to a fake baby pram stuffed to the brim with toys. And on her shelf, he spotted it immediately – Clara's book. Lifting a finger to it, he dropped it out onto his waiting palm, seeing the ages crossed out, through twenty four.

She'd given up on travelling altogether after he'd left, he realized with a lump in his throat. Though he suspected, seeing the ragged scribbles that now marred the pages, she'd had other things to attend to. She'd given her dream to her daughter as her mother had given it to her and he closed his eyes, feeling guiltier than he knew he should have. Turning the page, he smiled up at the neatly written words there before shelving the book.

_My Stars, Olivia Oswin Oswald – age 5_

Stepping out, he padded the few steps to Henry's room and allowed the grin to brighten his face as the chuckle broke the silence. The boy had lines of dinosaurs atop all of his furniture and a collection of robots tossed into a laundry basket in the corner marked "Prison" in Clara's handwriting with the boy's attempts to recreate the word on multiple sheets taped around it. He bent, knowingly, and reached under the bottom bunk and slipped out a shoebox of small action figures and an assortment of gadgets the boy had strung together with pencils, rubber bands, paper clips, and even some of his sister's hair ties and fake jewelry.

Sliding it back under, he went to the boy's desk and glanced over the drawings and tattered comic books and he knelt to look at the recent doodle of the Tardis hidden just underneath a colored page of a horse. With a sigh, he touched the image of himself peeking out of the door, hand extended towards three figures he knew were Henry, his mother, and his sister, and the Doctor rubbed at his eyes. Letting the page drop back on the pile, he glanced up at Henry's own collection of small books on a shelf to his right.

The Doctor laughed at the dinosaurs cover with the goggling eyes that danced about when he shook it, and he flipped through the pages of a book shaped like a robot that had small buttons inside that made noises. Pressing one, he turned swiftly when it emitted a loud buzz, and then shelved the book with a frown and a point of his finger before spotting, "Travel the Universe", a taller book with a felt cover. Old, and similar in size to Clara's – Olive's – '101 Places to See', it held photos and information about the planets in their solar system, pages on the constellations, and charts to learn the night skies and on the first page, Clara had written carefully,

_My Stars, Henry Evan Oswald – age 5_

Clara had given her son his own dream to follow and he watched the teardrop that splattered to the page and absorbed in before he could reach it. The Doctor closed the book and held it tightly against his bare chest as he felt the hands that slipped over his shoulders and wrapped around him.

"Come back to bed," she whispered into his ear as he shuddered.

He touched his temple to hers as she settled her head down next to his and he could feel her kneel behind him, body pressing against him. Wordlessly, he tilted the book back and he heard the small sound of her lips parting. "_One day I'll take him beyond these stars_," he wanted to say, but he knew it wasn't his place, so he simply exhaled as she stood again; taking the book from him and slipping it back onto the shelf. Clara stood over him and lowered herself carefully to sit in his lap and he lifted the throw to cover her as she hugged him, shifting closer and laying her head on his shoulder.

"You've done a wonderful job with them," he whispered, hand coming up to stroke over her hair.

She nodded.

"Their father is a foolish man," he added lowly.

"He is," she agreed.

"What happened, Clara?" The Doctor asked. "After I left, what happened?"

Pulling away from him, she watched his eyes and the sincerity there. He felt sorry for her, and she swallowed her pride, and then allowed, "I was a foolish woman."

"They don't have his name," he observed sadly, glancing towards the books.

"I didn't really know his name," Clara told him, voice barely audible as she looked away, embarrassed.

Studying the sudden wetness in her eyes, he dropped his hands over her naked back slowly, kneading as he went along and he shook his head, lowering it slightly, "I'm sorry," he told her.

Clara kissed his forehead, then shifted back, bending and tilting to press her lips to his lightly. He raised his head up to let her and she smiled, whispering, "Stop apologizing."

He shook his head against hers and she shifted even closer to him, teasing at him underneath her with a dip of her body before she kissed at his neck, nipping delicately at his skin. Falling back slowly, the Doctor shouted out as her lips began to drop to his torso and she straightened, watching his face contort in pain before he reached under himself to pluck a small police car into his hand and toss it aside before letting himself lay down to smile up at her, eyebrows high as she laughed.

Clara pushed her hands over his chest as she planted her knees at either side of his waist and laid herself over his body, resting her ear at his heart. She smiled, listening to the beats pounding out underneath her before lifting her head to look up at him, a small laugh escaping her as she glanced around and told him honestly, "I'd really like another go, but I can't do it in my son's room."

Holding her, he sat up and then shifted to stand, whipping the throw over his head and onto her shoulders and he wrapped it around her. With a devilish smile, Clara pushed backwards, leading him out of the boy's room and towards her bedroom. She laughed when he fell backwards before she climbed onto his thighs.

"Clara," he laughed.

"Doctor," she replied scandalously, hands coming down at either side of his stomach before she began crawling over him as he moved backwards on his elbows, grin playful on his face. "Come here," she growled, wrapping her palms around the back of his neck and crushing his lips with hers.


	10. Chapter 10

Something was on fire.

Clara leaped off the bed and rushed down the hall, feet skidding roughly over the wood in the hallway before she found herself staring into a kitchen at a shirtless man looking sheepishly up at her with plate of something blackened and smoking held between his gloved hands. She shook her head, one hand coming up to push hair away from her face before she asked groggily, "What… are you doing?"

"I tried to make you breakfast," the Doctor admitted.

Going to him, she looked over the stove settings and flicked the one dial from high to off and turned as he set the plate down on the table with a frown. "Was it eggs?" She questioned with a grin.

He shrugged, "Supposed to be scrambled, but then it went mad."

"At what point did you think it might be a good idea to take it off the heat?"

Gesturing at the plate, he scowled, "Apparently too late."

Clara laughed, slowly at first, but then she took the plate and dumped its contents into the disposal and held the counter because she was still half asleep and the mental picture in her mind of this man dancing about the kitchen in just his trousers and suspenders was – at that moment – hilarious. After he realized she wasn't mad, or even a bit upset, the Doctor allowed himself to join in before stepping towards her and plucking at his shirt buttoned up and hanging loosely over her.

"We could… give it another go?" He prompted.

She turned, eyebrows high, "Doctor, I might need a bit of a break before having another..."

"No," he shook his head, "No," he gestured at the stove, "I meant breakfast."

Clara planted a hand to her face and he could hear her masked laughter.

"Maybe not eggs," he supplied with an accusing stare at the stove. "Maybe cereal? The kind with marshmallows?"

She gestured at a cabinet and he withdrew the box there and studied it as Clara looked him over while he smiled at the cartoonish rabbit on the cover. She knew he was playing the puzzles on the back in his mind and not worrying over nutritional information, and she sighed, opening her fridge to retrieve milk. They sat at the dining room table, silently eating and he glanced around, smiling absently as he looked over small decorations like the small handprints pressed into clay hanging on the wall and the glass cabinet that held a line of recipe books that varied from sophisticated meals around the world to 'Cooking for Kids'.

"I was going to ask…" she started, spoon plunking into her bowl, "I keep forgetting it hasn't been years, so I suppose the Tardis doesn't have a kitchen yet."

He grinned, "No use for a kitchen, honestly, with all of time and space ready to eat from."

"Intergalactic buffet," she supplied, eyes falling away. "By decade."

"We could go," he offered, "Take the children. I know of a place that would make the clown and that ice cream pale in comparison…"

Clara shook her head quickly, frown slapping her features.

"The Tardis is safe, Clara," he promised.

She glanced up at him, "I don't want to travel, not like that," she told him, then added slowly, "Not anymore."

"It doesn't seem like you travel at all," he pressed, "What happened to that dream?"

Her forefinger tapped rapidly against the tablecloth and she shook her head, looking up at him, "Can't we just… enjoy this for a bit?"

Leaning back, he nodded, but he knew the truth – _this_ wasn't something he thought he could sustain, not when the reality of the day-to-day settled upon them. It wasn't something he was prepared to, at least not yet. A regular life. Rose Tyler had brought it up once: the house and the job and the ordinariness of it all and it had given him a small pang of anxiety then. He supposed, if he had the right circumstances, and if it were the right time, he could, but the silence of the house unsettled him. Picking up his bowl, he slurped up the milk and watched her stand and move to the sink with her own.

Her hands dropped to the buttons on his shirt and she began undoing them as he stood, going towards her and catching her gently by her neck, turning her and holding her against him. Clara held his sides and he could feel it in the way she held him just enough away, those boundaries being raised again – protecting herself from what he knew she was feeling; what she was wanting – and he pulled away, fingers coming down to linger on the next button of the shirt.

"I have to shower," she told him lowly, eyes on his stomach, waiting for him to shift away from her and he was left standing at the entrance to the kitchen, hands clasped together in confusion. She went down the hall and he could make out the small intake of breath as she went into her bedroom and listened to the door close behind her just before the shower rocketed on.

The Doctor raised his eyes to the ceiling and then nodded, going into the room to retrieve his jacket and as he straightened, he glanced up at the photos at her bedside of Henry and Olive smiling back at him. Their happiness was more important than hers he understood, and he swung the jacket over his arms, moving to the door to rap it with his knuckles.

"Clara, I'll just be over in the Tardis," he called.

"Alright," she replied quickly.

He leaned his head against the door a moment, fingers hovering above the handle because what he wanted was to open it and step inside and tell her to stop playing this game with him. To be honest with him, about everything… but he knew deep down that questioning her would turn her away permanently and he wasn't ready for that. And he knew it wasn't a game for her, it was a reality and he knew that this – _he_ – had become her fantasy life. Last night had been an indiscretion to her, a mistake, a slip back into a life she'd put behind her and this morning had been a reminder: _the Doctor and Clara in the Tardis_ was the past and it should stay there.

Inside the shower, standing under the hot running water, Clara pressed her hands to the tiled wall in front of her and leaned back, letting the blast of water pummel her face as she held her breath. She waited, numbly, listening for the closing of the door to bathe, quickly running over the list of things that had to get done without his distraction. And she chose to label him a distraction. She should have cleaned the house. She should have done the laundry. She should have gone to the grocers and picked up food for the week. Clara sighed as she dressed, pulling dark leggings on and slipping her feet into flats before picking up his shirt and tossing it in her hamper.

Outside she fell into her car with a crumpled list and stared at the Tardis across the street and she considered that he might be expecting her. He might be changed and waiting just inside for her to come over and banter with him, just like the old days. And some part of her took pleasure in turning the car onto the street to drive into town. He could wait this time, she frowned with a small growl. He could wonder where she went and how long she would be gone and whether she would return or not.

Moving passively through the aisles, she checked her list and dropped things into her cart, smiling and giving small nods to the people she knew. Some patrons of the shop, some of the other parents from the school, a neighbor who decided to tell her that her lawn could use some help. Clara listened without hearing. Her mind was on him, defying her as she wished to be thinking only about what Henry and Olive needed.

Henry and Olive.

She smiled involuntarily, thinking about the trouble they'd be getting themselves into with her father. He always returned with some tale, some little idea they'd cooked up between them that ended with mud in the living room, or frogs in his bed, or mouse traps in the shower. Clara remembered the look on his face when he'd come in with a blackened eye, and they'd gone running to their rooms in a rush to avoid being punished as he declared,

"_They tried to build an archway of books. An archway of books, Clara. Clear across the hall and d'you know what happened because they're not architects_?"

They'd watched a special on television while she'd been making dinner. How old stone buildings had been made and they'd decided to test it out in a place where they wouldn't be questioned – their grandfather's. Because Clara would immediately have spotted them carrying their building supplies out and she would have forbidden them from it. She would have taken them to the craft store and she would have gotten them foam blocks and sat on the living room floor and she would have…

Shaking her head, she stopped staring at the shelf full of assorted pickles and she moved around to the next aisle, staring down at the paper in her hands before crumpling it and shoving it into the pocket of her skirt. Henry and Olive needed more cereal and they needed fruit snacks and fresh vegetables. They needed peanut butter and jam and Henry had complained that he'd run out of paper for drawing and Olive wanted the fruit juice with the talking pear.

_"Mummy, are the strawberries good this time of year? I can't remember."_

_"Mummy, can we make toast? Or have we run out?"_

_"Mummy, could we have the band-aids with the princesses on them?"_

_"Mummy, I'm not wearing band-aids with princesses!"_

She smiled at a baby who babbled in her direction, waving a chubby hand as her and her mother slipped past with a small chuckle of shared amusement. Dropping a box of band-aids with princesses and a box of band-aids with monsters into her cart, she stared down at the contents there. More than she'd expected. Why did everything feel so much more than she expected. Too much.

Pressing her hands to her temples, she calculated in her mind the money she had and how much she'd be spending and she turned the cart towards the pharmacy. She didn't have room in her life anymore for the Doctor. Clara couldn't be that _girl_ anymore, who clamored into his snog box and hung on his every word and wondered whether the looks he gave her meant more than she'd convinced herself they did. Even if she knew they did. She had to be the woman in control of her life; the mother who made sure her children were safe and taken care of.

Could she balance the lives?

The question was dismissed as soon as it entered her mind because she knew she couldn't. She'd have to tell him to leave. Clara would have to be the braver of the two and she'd have to tell him it was alright to let her go. She'd already had to let go of him once, she'd just have to do it again – this time with the finality of knowing it was mutual. And she had to let him know it was fine with her. It was alright to go out into the universe and find someone else and if she happened to cross his path again, she would smile strongly and wave him off.

"Morning," she muttered at the woman behind the counter, "Can you still get Levonelle without prescription?"

The woman looked at her a moment, waiting for her to meet her eye before smiling, gaining a small smirk from Clara. She knew the other woman was trying to make it less uncomfortable, but Clara knew the more time they spent interacting, the more people around her would be able to overhear and she didn't need anyone overhearing her purchases and starting more rumors. Last thing she needed was her sex life coming around to her father and having him think less of her.

The woman began to ask, as quietly and politely as she could, when she'd last had unprotected sex and whether or not she believed she was pregnant, but Clara cut her short with a quick, "No, it was last night." Wincing slightly, she whispered anxiously, "Look, I'm sorry. Can I get it or do I need to see my doctor or…"

They eyed one another and Clara realized she was one of the mothers in her Friday morning reading group. She had a bright eyed little girl with soft ginger curls who clapped and drooled a lot. Leaning back, Clara felt her cheeks redden slightly before she turned away. "It's alright, Miss Oswald, everything here is strictly confidential."

"I'm not…" she trailed, then uttered, "I'm not pregnant. It's just precautionary. I can't…" Her chest constricted tightly and she gripped the counter with both hands. "I was stupid," she finally admitted, eyes closing.

A hand touched hers and she blinked up at the woman who nodded, "Not stupid, just human." She smiled and disappeared into a back room before emerging with a bag to conceal the emergency contraceptive before gesturing at the register, "Can ring this up here if you'd like."

Clara gave her a small, but genuine smile, paying and shoving the bag into her purse with her receipt. She moved her cart towards the registers and paid for the rest there, frowning at the total because she'd just spent over twenty five pounds at the pharmacy because of her _humanity_. She drove home in silence and when she arrived, she carted her items inside, realizing on her last trip out that the Tardis was no longer parked across the street and she sighed, going inside to tear open the brown bag and rip through the box for the pill inside, downing it dryly and grimacing. Maybe, she thought, staring down at the cardboard scattered on the countertop, everything could be normal now.


	11. Chapter 11

The Tardis swung into the vortex smoothly and the Doctor checked his console as it parked down just over six years before in an alleyway not far from the Maitland's. He wasn't sure if she'd be there, but he knew he had to be discrete – he couldn't change a single thing about her life because it could change her future and as he stepped out, he peered in either direction to make sure he was, indeed, in an alleyway. The wayward cat that purred up at him expectantly made him feel oddly guilty.

"I know it's not good to spy," he spat at the cat.

It meowed as he stepped past it, closing the Tardis door.

"Oh, I'm just having a look!"

Taking a menacing step towards it, he watched as it scampered down the muddy strip before he turned and went in search of her. She'd be there, he knew, somewhere nearby and when he found her, he stood dumbstruck beside a tree. She was coming down the street with Artie on one side of her and Angie on the other, all three carrying bags of groceries and laughing about something he couldn't hear. He could see the lift in her dress, revealing her knees as she walked, and the bulge at her midsection.

And she was beautiful. Hair bouncing over her shoulders, so much longer than he'd ever seen it, and she radiated as she went, he supposed it was the glow he'd always heard so much about. He couldn't understand it until he stood smiling at her from his hiding spot admiring her as she continued on the sidewalk with the two children.

The last breaths of her laughter dissolved into a quick giggle before she glanced down at her stomach and then at the two beside her. "When we get home," she finished lightly, tilting towards Artie.

"You should let us carry those for you, Clara," Artie offered, glancing at her stomach with a frown before adjusting his bags into one hand.

Shaking her head, Clara smiled, "I can carry a few bags. Besides, you have the heavy ones already."

"Thinks he'll build muscles," Angie teased. The Doctor touched his sore jaw.

Artie looked off-put by the comment and reached out swiftly to take Clara's bags before she could complain, shifting away from her when she moved to take them back, hair dropping into her face with a laugh. He smiled as she dropped her hands to her stomach, giving it a small pat before locking her fingers over-top it and looking between the children at either side of her.

Shuffling her feet and staring at the ground, Angie told her quietly, "Dad says you'll be leaving soon; says you won't be our nanny anymore."

"That can't be true," Artie exclaimed, "I mean, you'll just have the baby and stay with us, right Clara?"

He watched the last of her smile flutter away on a breeze and she shook her head, "No, it's not fair to either of you, or your father, that he'd be paying me to look after my own child." She forced a laugh, "He'd be paying me to sit around while you two take care of me – how fair is that?"

"Seems fair, you've been taking care of us!" Artie barked, glancing at Angie, who, the Doctor knew, was conflicted because she was older and she understood better than her brother why the arrangement wasn't _actually_ fair.

Angie sighed and looked to Clara's stomach, "Will you live with your father then?"

"Will we still see you?" Artie questioned.

She stroked her belly and nodded slowly, "I'll be with my dad, yeah, and of course you'll still see me. One day I expect to make proper nannies out of both of you," she teased, arm coming up around Angie's shoulder while her other hand nudged Artie's chin.

Face dropping away, Artie kicked at a rock on the ground and Clara touched his shoulder, releasing his sister to turn her attention to him. "Hey, it's alright," she told him with an air of hopefulness that warmed the Doctor's heart.

"It's not alright," he fumed, "None of this is _alright_."

"Let's not get in on this again," Angie warned. "She shouldn't…"

"In on what?" Clara questioned sternly.

Angie lifted an arm to her brother and supplied, "He blames the Doctor, says if he hadn't left, none of this would have happened and you'd be staying with us as our nanny."

With a shake of her head, Clara began, "Artie, don't blame him…"

His face reddened and he admitted, "I heard dad talking to Mr. and Mrs. Pennington at the market, couple months back, she told him you'd gone bonkers. They'd seen you at the pubs with some blokes from the city, hanging off them, and there were rumors about you and Errol…"

"The plumber?" Clara asked calmly.

"Yeah," he shouted, "Said someone saw you comin' out of his house in the morning – said there were a lot of people questioning whether you were a bad influence on us. Said he'd better keep a short leash on Angie before she's lining up the boys in the school bathroom."

Clara straightened and rubbed her forehead. "I went to the pub for some chips and _water_ with Sam – man I used to go to school with," she explained. "Errol is _incredibly_ creepy and I wouldn't go near his place unless he kidnapped me and took me there, _which obviously did not happen_."

Artie shook his head and juggled the items in his hands before hissing, "But the rumors, Clara, I mean, they were talking like you'd opened up a brothel and sleeping with…"

She let out a breath and told him bluntly, "So I've had sex with men, Artie. I'm an adult and I'm entitled."

His lips were pressed so tightly together, he looked like he might pop, and he finally spat, "They say you don't even know who the father is…"

Laying a hand on either shoulder, she stopped him with a cold stare and the Doctor could hear the angered twinge to her voice as she told him, "Be mad at me, I messed up – that's got nothing to do with the Do…"

"It's got everything to do with him!" Artie shouted at her and he could see the words strike her like a slap in the face and she turned away, grip tightening on him before she slipped back, releasing him as he continued, "You didn't do those things before, you would _never have done_ those things before."

"He left, Artie. He left and I had to deal with that and I chose to go about it the wrong way."

"And you're pregnant," he reminded.

"Artie, I think she knows she didn't make the best decisions," Angie interjected with a frown. "And dad understands, knows she's perfectly sane – or she wouldn't still be taking us to the grocers and helping us with our homework."

The boy looked away and then turned back sharply, muttering with a scowl, "Don't see why you didn't just get rid of it."

Clara flinched and then she laughed softly, waiting for him to meet her eyes before she forced him to settle the bags on the ground and she took his hands and placed them on her abdomen, holding them there a moment before his head came up quickly. Artie's anger melted into confusion as his fingers spread slightly and he inched closer to her.

"That the baby?" He asked.

"That's my _baby_, Artie," she told him, moving his hand to another spot and watching his face light up and his breath quicken. "That's _my_ baby," she repeated with a sad smile as tears dropped silently over her cheeks.

Angie moved closer and placed one of her bags on the ground, hand coming up before Clara released Artie, who stood, shocked, and guided Angie towards the small strong thumps. "You found out if it's a boy or a girl yet?" Angie asked, then laughed, "So we can stop calling it _it_?"

Clara nodded shortly and whispered, "Couldn't get a good look, but they said she had a… they said _she_ had a strong heartbeat." Clara's hand came up to her mouth and she dissolved into sobs that neither child understood before she told them on a ragged breath, "I've sort of taken to calling her Olive."

The Doctor turned, pressing his back firmly to the tree, rubbing into it so the wood stung his back, because she dropped onto Angie's shoulder, body shaking with tears. His own hearts were thudding in his chest as he listened to the children consoling her and eventually, they made their way to the house and went inside, leaving the Doctor to trudge back to the Tardis and flip the gears, the day of their birth. The day she found out it wasn't that solitary girl in her womb, but two small souls that changed her life irrevocably.

He stepped carefully into the hospital, knowing that despite the late hour, anyone could be wandering about and the last thing he needed was running into her father, or Mr. Maitland. They would report back to her and on this day, she needed nothing less. Walking through back doors and flashing his psychic paper when questioned, he found her room empty of anyone except her, sleeping comfortably with a nurse checking on her.

"Visiting hours…" the woman started.

"I'm the Doctor," he supplied easily, lifting the psychic paper until she shrugged and went about putting notes in her chart before handing it to him.

He held the metal binder and looked down at Clara. Her face was puffy and her eyes were still red, hand with the IV lingering on the bump that remained of her stomach. With a small grin, he opened her chart and skimmed her details. She'd arrived at eleven in the morning, blood pressure and heart rate significantly elevated, and had given birth to Olive just before midnight. Twelve minutes later, Henry.

"Different birthdays," he laughed quietly to himself.

She sighed and shifted in the bed and the Doctor backed out of the room, replacing the chart just outside of her door before finding his way to the nursery and showing his fake credentials before slipping on a greenish covering so he could find the children. They were tiny. He always forgot just how tiny newborn babies could be and as he smiled down at them, snuggled tightly in two basinets next to one another, he found himself at a loss. She must have told their father, she must have known. Despite what she'd told him herself, he just knew Clara wasn't the type to not know… unless his departure _had_ had that profound effect on her.

Abandonment left scars, he knew. And he couldn't have done it at a worse time.

Henry opened his eyes and stared up at him carefully and unfocused and the Doctor gave him a large smile and lifted him carefully out of the bed, cradling him delicately as he yawned. "Hello, Henry," he whispered. The boy only stared, lips pressing together tightly and working from side to side as the Doctor rocked him.

"Poor girl," a man nearby uttered, "Don't think she was prepared for the one and she got landed with two."

Olive made a squeak of protest and the Doctor looked down at her as she shifted her lips, displaying the small dot of a dimple already so familiar to him. He looked to the man, a nurse he could see, checking on other infants before telling him assuredly, "Clara will be fine."

He glanced up at the Doctor and let out a small huff of amusement, "They usually are in the end. She's lucky she's got her father and that family."

"The Maitland's," the Doctor provided, before setting Henry down and picking up Olive to look into her furrowed eyebrows and pouted lips. He laughed at the expression as it smoothed away. "Was there mention of a father, anyone drop by?"

The man eyed him suspiciously before shaking his head, "She was fairly adamant – _screaming like a banshee adamant_ – that they might as well have _no_ father."

Settling Olive back down, he stood over the two, one hand on each and he dropped down to place a kiss on each of their foreheads, telling them in a whisper, "Be good, and listen to your mum." He gave their cheeks a small rub that they both turned instinctively towards before he straightened and slipped away, sniffling back his own tears. The Doctor moved quickly out of the nursery, listening as slowly, they both began to cry.


	12. Chapter 12

The front door shook slightly with the turn of a key and Clara smiled, closing the book she'd been reading on the couch to stand as the stampede of footsteps rushed towards her, knocking her back down into the cushions. The two children squeezed at her body before both lifting up and grinning widely down at her and in a rush of words she could barely make out, they shouted about camping and the fire and the marshmallow that caught fire and the way it got cold at night and how they cuddled with grandpa and how he read them stories and told them about monsters and it gave Olive nightmares – "_No it didn't!"_ – and then they giggled, falling into silence atop either of her thighs.

"_Well_… how _exciting_," she replied, eyes widening as they smiled at one another. "Dad?" She questioned, seeing him coming to stand at the entrance to the living room with their suitcases and a weary look on his face. Clara laughed, "You alright?"

"Don't know how you do it, Clara," he admitted, setting the suitcases down just inside the living room as the children jumped aside to let her up before they rushed to their rooms, making noises of complaint because she'd put away all of their things.

Standing in front of her father, Clara pushed her hands against her back and looked to the ground, feeling guilty because if he knew what she'd done that weekend – if he knew she'd done it partly out of some childish rebellion – he'd be so disappointed. Turning her face to look at him, she could see him reading her and she knew, because she was a parent, that he was sensing something amiss. Stepping forward, he wrapped his arms around her and Clara closed her eyes, accepting the unspoken apology.

"They're terrors," he whispered with a chuckle.

She laughed lightly, "Well, they _are_ mine."

Dave sighed, "D'you know the both of them can name every constellation in the sky?"

Shifting back, she shrugged, "I got Henry a book at Christmas, they both rather enjoy it."

"Maybe they'll be astronomers," he teased.

Clara only nodded before heading towards their rooms to make sure they weren't immediately tossing their toys and other belongings about. "Or tomorrow," she turned to tell her father, "He'll decide he wants to hunt dinosaurs and she'll declare she wants to join the ballet."

With a laugh, he conceded, "The joys of being a child – every option in the universe open to you."

Dropping her head, she went to Henry's room and smiled, finding him sitting there with a blue crayon in his hand and a new sheet of paper, drawing furiously. "Hey," she called, "Don't run through that too quickly."

He grinned back at her and nodded, uttering a simple, "Thanks, mum."

Shaking her head, she moved to Olive's room, sensing her father on her heel and turning into Henry's room to see what the boy was drawing. The man would stick around for lunch and then he'd depart, and the children would mope sadly for the rest of the evening. Clara swung on the door frame into her daughter's room and watched her rearranging her dolls on her bed, glancing up and giving Clara a thin-lipped grin before asking, "Could we camp in the yard, mummy?"

With a twist of her lips, she nodded, then pointed, "Not tonight, you have school tomorrow."

"Maybe next weekend?" the girl asked hopefully.

"Maybe," Clara laughed.

Her daughter's smile faded and she looked up at her before telling her quickly, "You know what Henry said, when he saw all the stars outside, mummy? He said '_Oh, my stars_!' Just like you do, mummy." Then she turned back to the dolls, just as Clara was bending beside her, "But then grandpa started to cry, he said grandma used to say that." She fidgeted before finishing, "Grandpa said he missed grandma and that she would have loved us."

"Do you miss daddy?" Henry asked from the doorway, Dave standing over him looking as shocked at the question as Clara felt. The boy came to stand at her side and looked over the dolls before finding Clara's eyes and she touched his chin with a huff of a laugh.

And then she admitted, "Yes, I do."

"Do you think…" his voice trailed before he momentarily closed his eyes and raised his head to bravely ask, "Do you think he misses us?"

Clara looked up at her father and he turned away. She had never spoken to either of them about their father and she always knew there'd come a day when they'd asked, but she assumed it would have been years from now and they'd be more prepared – she'd be more prepared – for whatever she decided to tell them. She looked up to the two sets of dark sad eyes now watching her, taking in the devastated look on her face.

Olive touched her hair and asked boldly, "Can we see him?"

"Does _he_ like camping?" Henry added.

Mouth falling open, she began to shake her head when Dave stepped into the room and squatted next to Clara, telling both children, "Let's go into the yard, you told me you had new bikes," he smiled as their eyes slowly turned up to him, "Come on, what color are they?"

Hesitating, each child turned and walked down the hall and towards a side door in the kitchen, leaving Clara on the ground in Olive's room with a sick feeling in her stomach. A sudden nausea at the notion that they'd both come back in eventually – without her father's distraction – and they'd ask again. Momentarily she thought about the pill she'd taken yesterday, about how she'd held a similar one in her hands almost seven years before, but hadn't been able to take it because _she knew_ then. She'd known almost immediately that she'd been pregnant.

Clamoring to stand, she rushed to the bathroom in the hallway and vomited, coughing roughly before flushing and she felt her father's hands on her back as she urged, "_Don't let them see me like this_!"

Because how could they believe she was strong if they knew she wasn't?

"They're in the yard, Clara," he assured as she dropped back against the adjacent wall, holding her trembling hands against her chest.

She looked up into the wide eyes that waited and she shook her head, "What do I tell them?" Clara's bottom lip shook violently as she turned away from the way his jaw clenched. "What do I tell them?" She repeated to herself before he knelt at her side and stroked her hair.

Her father sighed and uttered words she thought she'd never hear, "You lie to them, Clara."

* * *

Olive was still speaking in hushed whispers as she laid her in her bed and Clara knew the girl wasn't fully awake because nothing made sense. There was something about a horse and a rainbow and some mumbles that weren't even words and as she tucked the sheets just under her neck, she smiled down at the girl who went silent. Clara traced a finger over the child's forehead, taking a wayward chunk of hair and curling it around her small ear, shifting forward to lay her head at her daughter's chest, hearing the steady thumping.

One solid heartbeat that calmed her.

"Mummy?" The small voice startled her and Clara shifted up quickly to look at Henry, holding the door frame, body leaned against it, stuffed super hero doll hanging from his left hand.

She stood and went to scoop him up into her arms, feeling his warm head lying against her collar. "What is it, sweetie?" Reaching up, she pressed the back of her fingers to his skin and frowned, muttering, "Really, Dad, in this cold," before making her way into her bathroom to find a thermometer.

He lay limp against her as she held it under his arm and when she pulled it back out, she sighed and frowned as he asked, "Did I get sick?"

"Too much cold air," she supplied.

"Camping?" Henry asked.

With a nod, she kissed his nose and took him to her bed, settling him in the sheets and kneeling next to him to give him a sympathetic smile and a sigh, "Whatever will I do with you?"

"I don't want medicine," he allowed, before asking, "Could I have ice cream? That makes me feel better."

Clara stood and poked his belly, eliciting the smallest of grins, before she went back into the bathroom to retrieve the grape flavored medicine that made him squirm and make faces as he swallowed it. She set it on the bedside table and quickly changed into her nightgown, crawling into bed and bringing Henry closer to her. He sighed against her neck and Clara pressed a kiss into his hair hoping he'd feel better in the morning. She also hoped Olive wasn't across the hall incubating the same illness.

"Mummy?" She heard quietly and she shifted back, looking at the boy with his head resting on her arm.

"Yes, baby?" She whispered back at him.

His eyelids drooped as he asked, "I was thinking and I wondered, is the Doctor our father?"

Clara smiled at the boy and prompted, "Why would you think that, Henry?"

He shrugged, "Because when he's not here, you're sad. Like grandpa was when he thought about grandma and…" Henry hesitated, "Because we like him."

"Henry," Clara laughed, "You barely know him."

"He's silly," he smiled, "And he makes you laugh. And," the boy beamed, eyes barely open, "He has a magic box that's smaller on the outside."

She withheld the laugh threatening to burst from her as she smoothed the hair off his forehead, hand lingering on his small cheek. "No, Henry, he's not your father."

Letting his eyes finally shut, as though the confirmation had done him in, he inched his way closer to her again, burrowing against her so that his knees were tucked into her stomach and his head rested at her chest. Henry sighed and his hand found a spot just above her breasts to settle into, so he could feel her heartbeat against it to calm him the way it had done when he'd been a baby. Clara let her head drop against the pillow and she played with the hair she'd neglected to cut, watching it fall smoothly over one eye.

"I'm sorry," she told him quietly, feeling the tear roll over her nose.

Because she'd done as her father had told her.

She'd lied.


	13. Chapter 13

_Seven years earlier_

The first Wednesday he hadn't arrived, Clara told herself that maybe the ship knew what had happened. It didn't like her, why wouldn't it try to sabotage her relationship with the Doctor. The thought seemed ridiculous, except to her it didn't. She'd deliberately taken him out of the Tardis for the day – and not to some other planet, or some future world, but into her home. Well, she considered, the Maitland's home.

They were on vacation, late summer jaunt to Italy she'd encouraged, before the children returned to school. Clara knew they needed the time together, they needed the time away. Angie was getting older, more interested in friends than family, and Artie wouldn't be following his father around soon – he'd be looking at girls and concentrating on how _cool_ he'd have to be for them. She'd cooked him dinner and they'd spent most of it talking about the seven moons of Hodar and how he'd have to take her… for the cheese.

"_Cheese. Seven moons and you're on about cheese_."

"_You don't understand; the cheese is magnificent_."

They'd just seen Venus. She'd just floated above the planet and gotten lost in the swirls of the gas at its outermost atmosphere. It had been beautiful, but it had also been a confirmation of sorts – or at least she'd thought – when she'd turned to ask him a question and found him gazing down at her with more wonder and admiration than she'd ever seen him give a planet or alien race. Or cheese. She'd offered to make him dinner, a real human dinner and several hours later, they were lying in her bed, him stroking her bare back while she nuzzled his chest with her cheek, arm draped over his midsection.

Entirely unexpected, and yet, Clara had felt more comfortable in that one act with him than she'd felt about anything else in her life. And when he'd looked down at her and smiled, all of the clumsiness and irrationality and general eccentricity he exhibited had been replaced with a man. Just a man who held his whole world in his arms.

And now it was next Wednesday and she sat on the stairs with her purse in her lap and an odd feeling in her stomach as she waited. Angie bounded down the steps, passing her and pausing at the door, turning and giving her a look before asking, "He not here yet?"

Clara shook her head, "No, running a bit late," she laughed, "Time machine and all."

Opening the door, the girl tilted her head and told her, "Being a time machine, shouldn't it be pin-point accurate about what time it arrives?"

With a roll of her eyes, Clara barked, "Off to Nina's?" Angie nodded, and she finished, "Be home before sundown – it's a school night."

"And it's your day off – can't nanny me," Angie replied with a smirk as she went through the door, leaving Clara on the steps waiting.

So he missed a week, she allowed. He couldn't be on her schedule all of the time. And his _time machine_ didn't particularly like her anyways; maybe it made him miss the appointment on purpose. Clara convinced herself of this as she took herself back up the stairs, four hours later, and fell into bed, exhausted for no reason.

The second Wednesday she grew angry. He'd left with so much hope in his eyes; had left her with so much hope in her heart. She'd no longer be the companion; she'd be, maybe, his girlfriend. Maybe, she knew, for just a while. He was a Time Lord – not aging the way she did – and she knew it wouldn't be forever. She'd prepared herself for that, but she'd thought _maybe_ for a time. Maybe they'd work around it. And this time Angie skipped going to her friend's house and she sat on the stairs, distracting Clara from her thoughts as the hours passed by.

The third Wednesday she worried. She worried so badly she ended the night over a toilet until the contents of her stomach were flushed away and she was simply hugging the porcelain as Artie sat on the edge of the tub and Angie knelt at her side. Mr. Maitland entered, concerned as he helped her up and guided her to her room, laying her down and sitting with her until she'd fell asleep with the certainty in her mind about what was happening inside of her body stinging her eyes with tears.

The fourth Wednesday she decided he'd left her. He'd probably done it with all of the others, she convinced herself. He tricked them into falling in love and once he'd had his way with them, he left. Floating off into the night sky to find himself another catch, and she bedded her childhood friend out of revenge. Maybe he would find out, she considered, and maybe when he saw her he would regret what he'd done. Clara pulled herself out of Sam's bed feeling stupid and disgusted with herself. She dressed as he continued sleeping and she left, walking home in the cold night air with her jacket wrapped tightly around herself.

She knew what people thought when she flirted openly at the market, or went out with the man she'd just met in the pub, and she chanced a quick night with a man whose finger held a gold band because these things made her adrenaline pump and her heart pound the way it had when the Doctor arrived at her doorstep. And secretly, she hoped she would miscarry. It was a dark thought, hidden away in the back of her mind every time she emerged from the shower and studied the skin under her navel.

By the eighth Wednesday, she could see it. No one else could, but Clara could see the small curve there and she touched it with reddened eyes. She didn't need to confirm it and she was terrified of going to her gynecologist to talk about it because it was part alien and Clara didn't know what it would mean and she certainly didn't know who she could talk to. Her mind ran over the names of his former companions, but the only one she could find was the red headed woman who, she knew, didn't remember.

At the twenty third Wednesday she could no longer avoid the nagging from her father. He'd chosen to ignore his anger at her insistence not to tell him the name of the man who'd given him an unexpected grandchild, but she could see in his eyes every time he looked at her that he knew what everyone in town was discussing. The indiscretions that made her the topic of whispers. Clara knew they asked him and he was in the unfortunate position of having to defend her when she knew she didn't deserve to be.

"Clara," he'd told her, "You have to have yourself and the baby checked out. I don't understand any of this – it isn't like you!"

He'd given her a lecture on all of the things that could be wrong and she'd teased him about reading the books and searching online. And he'd retorted that someone had to, leaving Clara sitting at his dining room table on a Wednesday in tears because she knew he was right.

The gel on her stomach was cold and she hissed slightly as the man working the knob over her skin apologized with a small laugh, as though he were used to it. He rolled to her left and then to her right and narrowed his eyes at the screen.

"Is something wrong?" Clara asked, voice breaking.

It had occurred to her that something could be _wrong_, but it never occurred to her that something could be wrong in a human-y way. She watched as he turned and smiled politely, "Just a bit hard to see."

"Does that mean there's something wrong with the baby?" She pressed.

He moved the knob closer to her waistline and shifted back slightly, making a noise of accomplishment before pointing at something on the screen that Clara stared at. "Happens sometimes, hard to get a look in," he explained, "Stubborn babies," he elaborated for a laugh, but Clara was still looking at the grayish masses shifting about on the screen and then she let out a quick laugh because she could make out a foot. Clearly.

Her baby's foot. She pointed, as if he hadn't seen, and laughed, "Oh, my stars," she breathed.

"That's definitely her foot," he told her, clicking at the screen and measuring randomness in the noise there as Clara held a hand to her chest.

"_Her_ foot," she repeated.

"Definitely a girl," the man told her with another point of his finger that, she supposed, meant he was looking at genitalia before another click. "We could," he started, flicking a switch and turning a dial up so she could hear an odd assortment of sounds, "Listen to her."

Clara leaned back slightly, listening to the thumps and woops and then she felt the knob shifting again and he straightened in his seat. Something was wrong. She could see it in the way he concentrated on the screen before looking back at her belly. "What?" She questioned. "What is it?"

"Got two heartbeats in there," he allowed, "Sounds like twins, I just have to…"

She smacked his hand away, watching the way he stared at her as she panicked. Clara slipped off the bedding and used the smock she'd been given to wipe the gel off her stomach before throwing her blouse over her as he protested. She wasn't finished, they needed a few more images, needed to check the heart. Clara was out in the street and on her way onto the tube and she sat, flushed, in a seat staring out the window.

Her vision was a blur as her hands cupped underneath her blouse at the warmth of her stomach, thumbs rubbing delicately at the flesh where she felt the soft tapping of her daughter's foot. She cried quietly, tears rolling over her cheeks with fear. She had two hearts, she told herself. Her daughter had two hearts. Leaning her head against the glass, she glanced down at her stomach, trying to brainstorm a way to get in touch with the Doctor because how could a child with two hearts survive on Earth? How would they let her not be some anomaly?

Clara lied to her father when he'd asked how it went and she felt foolish for not at least taking one of the grainy snapshots that showed off Olive's rounded head and tiny fists. She knew she'd see her soon enough, she'd hold her and she'd take her away from this place. Somewhere safe.

And before she knew it, she was lying in a hospital bed, late Tuesday night, face beet red as she grasped her father's hand and pushed on command, feeling the burn of that small head crowning before she spiraled out into the doctor's waiting arms. Clara held her breath as she collapsed backwards, looking at the pink limbs that struggled with their newfound freedom and she listened to the wail, ignoring the pain – her body's message that she wasn't done – as she waited to hold her.

"Where are you taking her?" Clara shouted as the child was handed off to a set of nurses.

Her doctor turned and rubbed at his head with his fore arm before smiling at her, "Clara, I'm going to need you to relax."

"I can't relax, I need to hold her. Give me my Olive," she demanded.

Her father hugged her tightly from where he stood just beside her and he glanced at the doctor, telling him plainly, "She should be able to hold her own daughter."

The man raised a hand and nodded before bending to check Clara and telling her, "In due time, Clara. Right now I'm going to need you to push on the next contraction."

"I want to hold her," she cried.

"Clara, you've got another baby coming," the man informed her, watching as she dropped back against her father and shook her head, "On the next contraction, you're going to have to push."

"Another baby?" She asked, voice barely audible. "Another baby."

She glanced up at her father and saw he was torn between whether he should be feeling joy or terror as he watched her eyes go wide in confusion, repeating the words a third time. "Twins, Clara," he finally told her, "They didn't…" he trailed.

"Two heartbeats," she whispered, "Two heartbeats; two babies."

She shouted out, grabbing hold of the bedding on one side and the man at the other and she pushed. Clara listened to the man instructing her to remain calm, to relax, to wait for the right moment and she leaned forward, feeling her own heart pounding as she pushed again. And then again. And then she clenched her jaw as she felt the second small body slip from her and she remained frozen to the bed, seeing the baby the man held.

"Is it alright?" Clara managed to utter, feeling herself on the verge of fainting, her head pounding between her ears and her legs trembling.

The man cleaned the child's nose and mouth and it complained and then slowly began to join the other infant in the room in a set of gurgled wails. He lifted the baby to show her and she laughed as he declared, "Boy."

Clara watched them bring Olive to her and laid the quieting swaddled girl in her right arm before the naked boy was placed in her left and she looked from one child to the next as his umbilical cord was cut and she sighed at him happily, "Whatever will I do with you?"

Dave kissed the top of Clara's head and he reached out to nudge Olive's cheek with his knuckle before watching them take the boy away. "Twins, Clara," he laughed. "All this time preparing for Olive, and now we've…" he straightened, "Oh dear, Clara, we're gonna need…"

She touched his arm and smiled lazily, "We'll be fine, dad."

The boy was brought back, bundled up like his sister and put back in Clara's arm and she cried openly over them, knowing they'd be taken away soon to clean her up and let her rest. Her father began to list the things they would need to buy – namely, another crib – but she just looked down at the two faces staring back up at her. Normal, healthy, human. Her perfect little babies.

"Miss, should we put Baby Boy Oswald for now?" A woman at her left asked. "Give you some time…"

"No," Clara sighed. She looked to the boy, the unexpected surprise, so much like his father had been, and she shook her head and said softly, "Henry Eleve… Evan," she repeated slower, "Henry Evan Oswald."

Born on a Wednesday.


	14. Chapter 14

The sounds inside the Tardis stopped as he landed and the Doctor rushed to the doors, gripping the handles before pausing and closing his eyes, hoping he hadn't overshot again. He'd marked in the day. Marked it to the very hour. Monday morning. He could say hello before she stepped out to take the children to school and he could tell her he was still thinking about her, tell her he hadn't left, tell her anything to reassure her that he wouldn't do it again.

The Doctor would not abandon Clara.

Emerging, he looked out at the yard around him and he swallowed hard, making his way past two bikes lying in the grass and an assortment of outdoor toys before looking in through the window on a door at the side of the house and grinning widely as he saw Clara walk into the kitchen. She didn't quite scream, but something flew out of her hands and her mouth opened slightly before she closed her eyes and took a long breath. He frowned as she stomped towards the door looking exhausted, undoing the lock to pull it open and look out at the Tardis parked in her yard.

"I can't really today, Doctor," she told him sadly, "They've both got fevers, bit of an explosive situation going on in both bathrooms…" Olive called out to her and the Doctor could hear the tears on her voice before Henry cried out similarly and he pushed in.

He pulled off the purple coat and dropped it on the closest chair, folding his sleeves up as he spoke, "I take one; you take the other," he offered with a smile, "Like dealing with Proxifroth on Helvicorn."

"You're comparing my children to puss filled aliens," she told him as he went into the hallway while she locked the door and followed him, "Doctor, you really…"

He gave a shout, coming out of the bathroom, "Something happened in there," he told her, "I'm not sure what, but there's a stench and I'm sure Olive is sitting on it. It might have…"

"It's poop," Clara told him. "She's coming out the back; Henry's coming out the front – you want to help? Choose an end."

Fingers flexing slightly in the air, he pointed towards Clara's room, "Front."

"Good," she said shortly, going into Henry's room and plucking clothes from a drawer and pressing them into the Doctor's chest, "He needs a bath and a change." And she went into the bathroom with a quiet, "I know baby, I'm so sorry…" as the door closed.

He stood in the hall with the clothes in his hands and frowned at her – how she could sit in there with the door closed, he couldn't understand, but he twirled towards Clara's room when Henry called out sadly, "Mummy!"

Stepping inside, he peered into the bathroom to find the boy in his underwear, looking frail as he stood over the toilet with his hands on his stomach. He'd been crying, he could tell, and his chin trembled as he looked up at the Doctor and shook his head as the Doctor told him, "I suppose you don't know how to bathe yourself, do you?"

Henry shook his head, "Where's mummy?"

Pointing back, the Doctor placed his clothes down next to the sink and sighed, "Your sister's expelled a bit of a bomb and your mother's in the process of clean-up, it seems."

There was the hint of a smile as the boy asked, "She pooped?"

"Yes," the Doctor made a face. "Girls can be quite disgusting," he offered as Henry sniffled a laugh. Moving past him, he switched on the water and felt it pour over his hand while Henry came to stand next to him, leaning against his leg, shaking slightly. Feeling his forehead, the Doctor frowned; he did have a high fever. "Let's have bubbles, eh?" He told him cheerfully, reaching up for Clara's shampoo.

The boy seemed to brighten somewhat, but his chest still jumped with an occasional large ragged intake of breath as the Doctor worked his best to make a lukewarm bath filled to the brim with bubbles before slipping Henry out of his undergarments and then settling him inside. The boy smiled up at him with sleepy eyes before he began waving his arms slowly through the bubbles.

"Everything alright…" Clara began from the doorway before grinning down as the Doctor turned, bit of bubbles stuck to his chin. She shook her head and walked away and the Doctor turned back to Henry and picked up another handful, touching it to the boy's chin before he shifted back and laughed.

"How is your tummy feeling, Henry?" The Doctor asked quietly.

He glanced down at a gap he made in the bubbles and then looked up with a frown, "It's all jumbled up, that's why everything keeps coming out."

"You need fish fingers and custard," he told him quietly, then, to the sickly look the boy gave him, he corrected, "No Henry, what you need… what you need is some ginger ale and crackers."

He made a face of disappointment. "Can't I have cereal?"

With a sigh, the Doctor informed him, "Unfortunately the sugar will make your tummy even more jumbled, which would, in turn, make you spit up again… and we wouldn't want that, would we?"

Henry shook his head. "Could we watch cartoons?"

The Doctor brightened, "Yes, I love cartoons."

"You do?" Henry asked, standing as the Doctor prompted, lifting a rosy colored loofah to begin rubbing it over the boy's body carefully, seeing the remnants of vomit trailing over his neck and onto his chest.

With a shrug, the Doctor smiled, "Who doesn't?"

Clara stood just outside the door and dropped her head back slightly, hearing it thud against the wall because she was supposed to tell him to leave, but she couldn't. Her heart wanted him there too much, she knew, sighing before she stepped back to Olive, who was lying in her bed with a stuffed doll held tightly underneath her chin. Clara showed her the medicine and Olive frowned, sticking her tongue out.

"I know you hate it, but it'll make your stomach feel better."

"I don't care about my stomach," the girl pouted, "Make my bottom better."

She stifled a laugh as she bent and put a spoonful in her mouth, watching the soured face she got with a smile before she told her, "If your tummy gets better, trust me, your bottom will feel better."

Olive seemed distrustful and Clara sang softly to her, stroking her hair until she'd fallen asleep and when she stood, she found the Doctor with Henry against him, head dropped onto his shoulder. The Doctor gestured at her son, "He fell asleep as I was dressing him."

Clara pointed, finger coming up to her lip and the Doctor nodded slowly, then moved to the other room, slipping Henry onto the bottom bunk, brushing his hair back away from his forehead to test the skin there. He sighed, the bath had cooled him down a touch, but not quite back to normal. Clara bent beside him, edging closer to him and she lifted Henry by the back of the neck, slowly dripping a spoon full of purple liquid into his partially opened mouth and he swallowed it, making a face of disgust before shaking his head slightly.

The Doctor watched her lay his head back and touch his cheek, sighing to herself. "You should go to work," he told her quietly.

Clara laughed, barely a huff of air as she glanced up at him, "And do what with them?"

He considered a moment before offering, "I'll stay in, watch them."

"You?" She asked. "Watch my children?"

"I'm very good with children," he pointed out with a nod towards her.

Biting her lip, Clara stood and clamped the spoon in her mouth before withdrawing it and staring at it with a cough, "God, that's horrible."

'"Go to work," he repeated, "Leave your number, I'll watch them."

"Doctor," she started, but he raised a finger to her lips.

"Clara, we'll be fine. Go," he prompted.

She hesitated, taking in the sincerity in his eyes and watching the way his eyebrows rose as he waited for her to leave and eventually she did, jotting down her phone number and placing it just beside the phone. Clara glanced in, seeing him give her a wave as he walked from one room to the next to check on each child and it gave her stomach a jolt. One that struck and re-struck as she drove towards the shop and when she stepped inside, jingle alerting Marge to her presence, she felt the urge to call him. To make sure he hadn't decided to feed them something ridiculous, or bounce them about thinking it would make them feel better.

They were two sick children who needed to rest and she felt guilty for leaving them with him. It wasn't that she didn't trust him, it was that she was their mother – she had always been there when they were sick. This would be the first time someone else…

"Oi, thought you weren't making it in today?" Marge asked as she approached the counter and dropped her purse.

"Got a sitter," she told her on a sigh, distracted.

"A sitter?" Marge barked back, "For two sick kids? Gotta give me _that_ number. My daughter can never find someone to watch her three brats when they're all running from both sides."

Clara picked up the phone and dialed the house number, then dropped it down – if she called, she might wake them, if they were asleep… and if they _were_ asleep, they should sleep. She inhaled deeply and tried to calm herself because she knew the Doctor wouldn't let anything happen to them. He'd call her if things got out of hand, she thought to herself, except that she knew he wouldn't. He would solve the problem with candy coated marshmallows and adventure stories that would work them up.

Pressing her hands to her head a moment, she tossed the notion out. He would take care of her children, she knew, because he understood how important they were to her. "Who's watching them?" Marge asked curiously.

"Their father," she muttered absently before her head came up quickly and her mouth fell open, staring at the woman who'd dropped a book. Clara jumped forward to retrieve the item, bringing it up and placing it on the counter before giving her boss a nervous smile.

But Marge's expression hadn't changed. "Clara," she managed on a breath. "Clara, you haven't said one word about their father in the six years I've been working with you. I don't…" she shook her head, "I don't understand." Clara looked away, surveying the store to see if there were any customers there that might have overheard, but there was only Jamie, head bopping lightly to the music in her headphones. "Clara, why would you…"

She shook her head and told her lowly, "We had a misunderstanding; he hadn't meant to leave."

"Hadn't meant to?" Marge spat with a shake of her head, "How does someone leave for almost seven years without the intention to?"

"It's complicated," Clara admitted. "He didn't mean to leave is all."

"But he did," Marge argued.

"And he's come back," she smiled, recoiling, "Maybe not permanently, but his intentions are good and I trust him – I trust him with my life, and I trust him with the lives of my children."

The woman seemed disappointed and Clara knew why, but she also knew that she'd spoken truthfully and she watched as Marge shook her head and gestured up at her, "You trust him with _your_ children, Clara. Can't even bring yourself to call them his." She stepped away from Clara, moving to the back room murmuring, "I think I might need a drink."

Clara fell against the stool and glanced around again. She stood and moved to a pile of books that needed re-shelving and set herself to the task as Marge came out of the back with a large cup that, Clara knew, didn't just contain her morning orange juice. The woman avoided her glances and spoke to her in one word sentences and when they closed for the evening, she left her standing in front of the shop feeling ashamed. They were her children and she'd left them with a stranger.


	15. Chapter 15

The house was silent when she opened the door and she peered inside, expecting to hear two rambunctious six year olds stampeding towards her playing some game, because she'd decided that was how the Doctor would pass the time – playing games. But there was no noise, barely any light, and she frowned, setting her keys and purse down quietly just inside and going to flick on the light in the living room. And she brought a hand to her mouth to smother a laugh as she dimmed the lights again.

Clara stepped down into the living room and she picked the remote control off the ground from where it had dropped away from the Doctor's hand and she knelt next to him, lying on the couch. Olive was sleeping over his chest, knees wrapped around his stomach, one fist under her chin, the other palm flat at his collar; Henry was pancaked between his right leg and the couch back. Standing quickly, she moved to her room to retrieve her camera and she snapped a photo, watching the Doctor's eyes pop open just after the flash to look up at her, brow wrinkled in confusion.

"Was there an explosion?" He asked quickly, hand coming down over Olive's back protectively.

Shaking her head, she showed him the camera and smiled, "You looked sweet, thought I'd preserve a moment in time where _you_ and _my children_ were all peaceful and _not making a ruckus_." She nodded to them and asked calmly, "How were they?"

"Medicine went down every four hours as instructed by the bottle, with sour faces and occasional raspberries – and I'll have to agree, from the spoonful I had to take to get them to agree to take theirs, it's quite wretched. You might want to consult these pediatricians because grape does not taste like the blood of Bastiuns," he nodded to her for emphasis. "We had some toast with jam and applesauce for lunch, bit of yogurt, plenty of water, and only one more catastrophe – which, thankfully, happened in the toilet and no more clothes were soiled."

Clara smiled, reaching forward and lifting Olive into her lap, feeling her forehead still warm to the touch, but better than when she'd woken up in the morning. She watched the Doctor shift up and slide Henry into his own lap, rubbing the boy's arm lightly before placing an absent kiss at his forehead that brought instant tears to her eyes that she wiped at, asking, "What were you up to all day?"

The Doctor smiled up at her as she swayed slightly with her daughter in her arms and he shrugged, "They slept a bit through mid-morning, and we had a spot of tea with the dolls and dinosaurs, who, we were pleased to find, had respectable table manners," Clara laughed lightly, "and then we had lunch and mostly we've been watching cartoons. They're quite a bit more violent than I remember them being."

"When was the last time you watched cartoons?" Clara questioned, lowering her eyebrows to watch the Doctor consider.

"Nineteen… eighty four," he told her, staring up at the ceiling before glancing back at her.

She shook her head and then leaned forward, fingers to Henry's head with a sigh. "Feeling normal," she told him.

The Doctor nodded, "I've checked on them recently. Olive's still a little high, but I'm sure they'll be fine by morning."

"Did you Sonic them?" Clara asked, seeing the device just underneath the couch.

He looked sheepish as he admitted, "Yes. They had a small bout of the flu."

If that was the worst of his offenses, she knew, he'd done just fine. She shifted forward and kissed him gently on the lips, pulling back and offering a simple, "Thank you."

"Should we wake them?" He asked.

Clara took a long breath before nodding and she watched the Doctor give Henry's arm a small squeeze as he told him quietly, "Henry, Henry, you must wake up, there are Daleks attacking the prime minister!"

His eyes opened slowly and he stared up at the Doctor a moment before asking, "What's a Dalek?"

"Oh, to be young and naïve," the Doctor laughed as Clara did and Olive shifted suddenly, reaching up to hug her tightly. Henry dropped out of the Doctor's lap and climbed onto his mother, latching onto her and laying his head on her other shoulder. "I'll be off then," he told her with a nod and a gesture towards them, "Safe with mum for the night."

Clara shook her head, "Dinner," she said, "Stay for dinner."

"I don't want to intrude," he smiled, bending to pick up his Sonic and going into the kitchen for his jacket before turning and finding Henry and Olive waiting at the entrance, just in front of Clara. "I'll see you another day then," he waved.

Olive asked politely, "Do you like macaroni and cheese?"

"Mum makes great mac and cheese," Henry added.

"You could…" Olive began.

"…stay for dinner," Henry finished.

Hand coming up and toggling between them, the Doctor smiled, "Do they do that often?"

Clara sighed and shook her head, "Only when they've united in a devious plan."

"Devious plans to lure the unsuspecting Doctor to mac and cheese night in the Oswald household," he told them both, bending and scrunching his face as they giggled.

"Stay, Doctor," Clara urged, watching him straighten to study her.

"You could finish telling us about the Cybermen at Hedgewick's World of Wonders," Henry declared, perking up and giving a hop.

Clara rolled her eyes, "No Daleks, but you told them about Cybermen," then she hissed, "They'll have nightmares!"

Stepping towards them, he told Clara knowingly, "Children will always have nightmares; it's good to let them know someone will protect them when their nightmares become real."

"Mummy protects us," Olive told him automatically, a twinge of defensiveness in her tone.

"Mummy always protects us," Henry agreed, and they both leaned back against her as she touched their heads, watching them look up at her approvingly.

The Doctor smiled as he watched them grinning up at her, "You're right," then he added, squatting, "Your mum's saved my life more times than I could count."

They took a step towards him, Henry letting his head fall back slightly, shaking the hair out of his eye, "Would you tell us?" Then he turned to Clara, "Could he tell us?"

She nodded slowly, lips pressing together before asking the Doctor, "Why don't you take them into the living room for story time while I set up dinner?"

Before he could agree or disagree, Henry and Olive jumped onto each of his legs and they giggled up at him when he raised his arms and glanced down at them in surprise. "Seems I've been put on lock down," he told Clara.

She shook her head, "Walk with them."

"On my legs?"

Clara smiled at the dumbfounded look on his face before he glanced back at the children and growled in amusement, "I've got children shoes – children shoes are cool," and he raised his eyebrows at Clara before taking slow steps towards the living room. She moved to the cabinets just as she heard a loud shout and a set of wild laughs and she jumped to the hallway to see the Doctor sprawled across the carpet, Henry and Olive lying on the ground just beside each of his legs, howling as they rolled on their backs.

The Doctor watched the small shake of her head she gave them all and he could see the tension had dropped from her shoulders as she casually went back to cook dinner. He turned swiftly, crossing his legs and began telling them the tale that included, apparently, their 'cousins', Artie and Angie and by the time Clara called out for dinner, they were both stomping around after him declaring that he would be upgraded. The Doctor eventually succumbed, pretending to be fighting their attempts to put invisible robotic parts on him.

He could see Clara, taking plates from the kitchen to the dining room before she bounced into the living room and paused, giving him an odd furrow of her brow before cupping her hands over her mouth and telling them in a robotic voice, "All Cybermen shall move to the dining room for a food upgrade!"

Henry and Olive both stood and marched over the hallway step and into the dining room, repeating, "Upgrading food! Upgrading food!"

The Doctor leaned up on his elbows and smiled as Clara approached him, holding out a hand to help him up and he came up too quickly, catching her before she lost her balance and holding her close. He'd never truly understood domesticity, but watching her laughing up at him before pushing off playfully and nodding her head towards the room in which both children were currently slowly making their way through their bowls, he considered it.

A home.

If he stayed, he could have a home again.

The thought lingered as he stepped into the room and took the seat next to Clara, across from Henry. He watched them poking at their noodles and chewing and making a mess of things. And he looked to Clara, who raised a hand and chided them. They weren't to play with their food, she reminded them before standing to retrieve more napkins from the kitchen while they giggled, picking up stray noodles from their table mats to push into their mouths.

"No mess," Henry supplied, but the Doctor could see the yellow smears on the table and the noodle stuck to the front of his shirt.

And Clara missed neither, plucking his shirt clean with a sigh – because she knew it meant laundry sooner – and dabbing at the table with a chuckle as Olive called her brother gross. The Doctor released a loud laugh that had the three glance at him and he pointed, "Noodle in the nose!"

Henry turned and showed his sister and she shouted in disgust just as Clara did at his other side while the boy looked up at the man who shared his delight. This, the Doctor knew, was a home. Another in a steady stream of homes he'd been taken into over the years, like a stray puppy. Each for short times, for holidays, or special occasions, or just to hide, but this one came with something different. Something he felt when he looked into Henry's gaping smile and Olive's dimpled smirk as Clara came back around to sit at his side.

This home came with a family that could be his.


	16. Chapter 16

Clara reached over and hit her alarm, dropping back into bed with a grunt before she heard the silence and sat up, looking around her room wondering if, possibly, she was still dreaming. She threw back the sheets and slipped out of bed, walking into Olive's room to find the bed empty and she leapt out and into Henry's room, finding the same. Her heart was in her throat as she shouted their names, pushing open the hall bathroom door before rushing to the living room and then scrambling into the kitchen.

Exhaling and grabbing hold of the table for momentary support, she looked out at the duo who were having an animated conversation with the Doctor just outside, Henry standing on their play bench while Olivia danced circles around him, waving a doll around. The Doctor caught her eye, just as she dropped her hand away from her chest and relaxed. She managed a smile, knowing they were safe, and she watched Henry gesture at the bow tie hanging loosely over the button up shirt that sat open at his pale chest as she went to get oatmeal to prepare for them.

The boy was still wearing pajama bottoms and monster slippers.

Listening to the microwave hum, she crossed her arms, hugging herself as she watched him point to the buttons while he looked down and held the ends of his shirt. The boy tugged them straight and then began pushing the buttons into their holes with a gleeful smile as he reached the top and glanced back down. He hopped and the Doctor gave him a quick high five before reaching out to lift his collar. Clara stirred the lumpy contents in two bowls she set on the table before moving towards the door, swinging it open slowly to step out, lifting an arm as Olive came to her side to hug her waist.

"I got the buttons right," Henry told her proudly.

She nodded and watched the smirk the Doctor gave her before he pulled the two ends of the bow tie together and told him, "We'll learn the bow tie another day."

Henry's smile was so wide she thought he might fall backwards with excitement. The Doctor smoothed out the silk and straightened and Clara watched Henry do the same, lips relaxing into an identical grin as they studied one another. Clara sighed, seeing the empty collar at the Doctor's neck and she moved forward to bring Henry to the ground before telling them both, "Go inside, breakfast, now."

They nodded and stumbled past her towards the door and she turned to watch them climb onto the chairs and make faces before slowly eating. Twisting back to the Doctor, she found him smiling down at her, "I'm sorry, I was going to bring them right back in… but they knocked this time, stood outside of the Tardis and he asked me for help – I presumed you knew."

She laughed. "I'm sorry they disturbed you."

Waving a hand, he scoffed, "Wasn't doing anything of importance. A little spring cleaning."

"Changing the desktop again?" She asked with a rise of her eyebrows.

"No," he laughed, "Nothing like that." Then he shrugged, "Literally spring cleaning – have a whole room of springs that needed to be dusted off and sorted for future use."

Clara shifted sideways and nodded with a laugh, "Gotta get ready. School and work – will we be seeing you later?"

"Possibly," he told her with a smile and a nod. "Just possibly."

She brought her hands up to the two sides of his collar, straightening them and running her fingers over the empty space between them, "I'll have Henry return the bow ties then."

He shook his head, "No, I think I might try a different look for a while." He grinned and she dropped her hand away as he asked, "You don't approve?"

Clara tilted her head and squinted at him, then nodded slowly, "Might suite you."

He watched her step back into the house and she quickly reprimanded Henry for something he was doing to his oatmeal before she padded towards the hallway. Walking back to his Tardis, the Doctor stepped inside and let the door shut softly behind him, listening to the whirring noises at the center before he glanced around at the coils that sat in piles. Momentarily he turned to glance at the door wondering how she would feel if he went into the house and offered to tend to the children while she got ready.

Shaking his head, he settled himself on the cold metal and picked up a rag and slapped at the items around him with a frown. How did humans get through their days? But he knew – they had jobs, tasks to attend to, children to raise, houses to clean, duties to perform. He growled; he hated duties. Going back to cleaning, he checked his watch and then glanced up at the console – he could set the machine to just after five, pop out and pop back in just as they were coming in through the front door. Or he could take a trip out, to a place that would offer him presents to let them come in and eat the rust and dirt off the springs scattered about. And then he could peruse their planet and he could be back for supper.

Standing, he palmed a lever and laughed, no cleaning and he could be right back with them in no time!

Inside the house, Clara came back out to make sure the children had eaten before she went to shower. She stepped into the kitchen in time to hear the Tardis departing and she watched it as it dematerialized from her yard, giving her a sinking feeling.

Henry gasped and pointed, "Olive, look, the blue box is gone!" Then he turned up, "Mummy, where did the Doctor go?"

"Is he coming back?" Olive asked quietly, sadly.

Clara moved to the door and dropped the drape over the open squares and looked back at them, "Mostly done," she shrugged, "Go – I want teeth brushed, and Henry, I will know if you don't. Get dressed," she scooted them out of their chairs, "Go!"

The two scrambled away with a set of giggles that brought a smile to her face, until she turned back to the closed window knowing that bright blue box still wouldn't be there when she opened it. Clara thought about the man inside, about how he'd be spinning about that beautiful console. He'd never be able to stand still, she reminded herself.

How could he ever be their father?

* * *

Flicking a few tabs up, the Doctor landed easily in Clara's yard at five thirty two and something thumped loudly at the side of the Tardis. He glanced up curiously before making his way to the door and peering out, seeing the small face that popped out from the side to look at him. Olive didn't seem thrilled and she was giving him a pout that would put her mother to shame.

Pointing, she muttered, "He says you killed him."

Stepping out, the Doctor came around the side and saw Henry lying on the ground, peeking up and then squeezing his eyes shut. "I have been killed," Henry groaned.

For a moment the Doctor stared down in shock, then he realized the boys lips were clasped together in that way that he knew was holding back a laugh and the Doctor smiled, bending beside him to run the Sonic over him and declare in Olive's direction, "I suppose he's dead."

"I suppose," the girl repeated, lips perking up as she tilted her head sideways and added, "We'll just have to bury him so mum doesn't find out."

"Hey!" Henry shouted, shooting them both a surprised look.

The Doctor pointed, mouth gaping, and then pulled him off the ground, up into his arms as he leapt up, fingers tickling Henry's belly while he shouted, "It must be miracle day, he's alive!"

Olive covered her mouth to giggle.

"Stop! Stop!" Henry pleaded and the Doctor dropped his hand away, watching the boy hold out both of his own to ward off any other attacks. After a moment, he caught his breath and the last of his laughs tapered off before he admitted, "I did bump into her though."

"The Tardis?" The Doctor asked, glancing at the box and then lifting Henry's hair to look at the small red blotch there before he sighed, "I'll have to park her somewhere else."

"Is that her name?" Henry asked, "The Tardis?"

"That's a funny name," Olive teased.

"Oi," the Doctor pointed, "It spells out what she is: Time and Relative Dimension in Space."

Henry shrugged, "I can't spell very well."

"And we don't know what that means," Olive provided with a sigh, glancing up at the sign at the top of the blue box with a furrow of her brow because she could spell and she knew the letters said POLICE BOX.

"It means she's a space ship," Clara provided from the side door, stepping out to come to stand near them, immediately lifting a hand to Henry's hair to shift it aside and look at the bump there. "Did you run into the Tardis?"

He nodded sheepishly.

"I'll park it elsewhere," the Doctor allowed.

"Could we look inside?" Olive asked, tugging on his coat.

"Yes," Henry shouted, "Could we?"

"Haven't you already?" Clara reminded, watching the way they both turned in confusion and then gave her wide eyes before both biting their bottom lips and looking to the ground, remembering. "Yeah, I haven't forgotten – you were supposed to be in bed."

"Sorry, mum," they both said in unison.

The Doctor swung Henry slightly as he looked to the Tardis and shrugged, "They could have a look; no harm in a look."

Clara eyed him, "No," she told him, "No harm in a look."

The trio before her brightened and Clara lifted Olive in her arms as they approached the Tardis, and it gave off a loud warbled bong as the door opened. Henry shouted, "What was that?"

"Emergency sound, if I remember correct," Clara told the Doctor. "Why did it just let off an emergency sound right before we're about to enter?"

The man smiled, looking from one child to the other, who were both staring at him expectantly. "No reason," he offered, "Sometimes she makes sounds that make very little sense."

"Like you," Clara teased, hand coming up to his back to give it a rub as he pushed inside, carrying Henry in as Clara carried Olive.

The blue lights around the top of the ship rolled in a circle brightly and Clara and the Doctor watched the eyes that widened to their maximum, taking in the domed ceiling and the circles spinning about the center quickly. Henry was the first to laugh and he looked to Olive, watching her lips part before she began to laugh along with him, as though they'd both just heard a joke that neither the Doctor, nor Clara, had heard.

"Yes," Henry told the console.

"Let's not go too far," Olive added.

The Doctor's brow dropped and he looked to Clara, about to give them some excuse for why they couldn't go anywhere because he could see the look of worry on her face, but the machine gave an unexpected lurch. Setting the children down, the Doctor shielded them against the console alongside Clara and he grabbed hold of a lever that was lowering itself, trying to lift it.

"Where is she going?" Clara shouted over the sound of the engines.

"What is she doing?" The Doctor replied in shock.

Henry gave a nod to Olive and they both reached out to a set of buttons on the console, small fingers flicking them upward in unison as the Doctor and Clara shouted out. And the Tardis jettisoned into the time vortex as they stared up in surprise.


	17. Chapter 17

They came to a soft swooping stop, floating somewhere in the universe, the Doctor holding tightly to Henry against his leg as Clara loosened her grip on Olive, who was snuggled firmly against her body. Clara stared up at him and he could see the red rising at her neck as she straightened and moved towards him while he stepped away, landing a hard punch at his shoulder as he turned sideways and raised his hands to shield himself. The children remained, small hands wrapped around the console's edge as it quieted down to a steady hum, small gurgle every few seconds.

"What did you do?" Clara shouted at him, "_What did you do_! I told you I wasn't doing this anymore – the implication being if I wasn't going to, I certainly wasn't going to _with_ _my children_!"

"I didn't!" He started. She punched him again. "I didn't, Clara, I wouldn't!"

"God knows where we are," she shrieked before adding numbly, "Or when we'll return!" Then she looked up at him, "We could get back ten years later. We could disappear for ten years! How do I explain that to anyone? Children gone from school, my father worried sick, and we'd just drop back in." Clara grabbed hold of his lapels and screamed, "_I can't just drop in and out of my life like this anymore_!"

"Clara," he warned.

"No, Doctor, this isn't the life I'm living anymore," she told him with a shake of her head, "I've got my life, and this is not it – you are not…" he stopped her and nodded his head to a space behind her and Clara turned to see Henry and Olive staring up at her.

Henry pointed, and uttered, "She did it."

Olive raised a finger as well, and the adults both realized the children were pointing at the Tardis. The Doctor inched around Clara and knelt in front of them, asking them quietly and calmly, "What do you mean, she did it?"

Swallowing nervously, eyes darting to their mother, they both shrugged. And then Olive offered, "She wanted to take us."

Clara moved closer to them, pushing her hair behind her ears as she stood beside the Doctor and asked firmly, "What do you mean, she wanted to take us?"

"She was in our heads," Henry told them with a tap to his temple.

Olive added quietly, "She said we had to see our stars, mummy."

The children exchanged a glance and Clara reached down to lay her hand on the Doctor's shoulder, feeling faint as she glanced towards the Tardis doors. Looking up at her, he stood and touched her cheek, bowing slightly to catch her eye as a smile fluttered over her lips and she turned back to the two who waited just in front of them.

"We'll just show them and be right back home, I promise," the Doctor assured, "Right on time."

Clara nodded, slowly, and he could see the tears brimming on her eyelids before she blinked up at him, sending them rolling over her cheeks. "Ok," she mouthed.

"Clara," he called, small grin teasing at his lips before he wiped at her face gently with his thumbs, palms resting at either side of her face as she looked to the worried faces of her children, "Clara, I promise."

She let her eyes drift back to meet his and she whispered with a tilt of her head, "You've promised me before."

"This is different," he whispered back, nodding his head to the children.

The Doctor watched her steady herself before she moved around him, leaning to pick Henry up off the ground and into her arms tightly, waiting until he'd lifted Olive into his. The girl hugged his neck, fingers pressing firmly into his skin as he lead them towards the doors and, with Clara, they opened them slowly, revealing the darkened sky, bursting with brilliant stars. Both children let out silent gasps as they stared out, faces frozen in amazement for a moment.

He always took pleasure in these moments, but he'd never experienced them with children. It had always been his companion standing by his side, enamored with him and his ship and his cleverness. Now he looked to the girl he held, in awe of her as she stared out and took in the twinkling lights with a quick breath of a laugh that deepened that dimple just next to him as she held him securely and assuredly. The Doctor glanced at the boy Clara held and the way he pointed and continually opened and closed his mouth, as though the rush of thoughts in his head were never quite slow enough to make it out.

Clara continued to cry, lips occasionally lifting with each laugh that escaped each child, and the Doctor watched her face crumple slightly when a star shot across the sky and both children looked to the Doctor in excitement. They'd had a taste of it, he knew she was thinking, and they couldn't just walk away from that. And he knew, instantly, it was the thing she'd been dreading because he knew, somewhere deep inside of her, it was a reminder of a decision that had been taken away from her.

She knew she couldn't travel with him anymore because she'd had the children.

Clara was responsible for her children and this life was a life of irresponsibility and erraticism she couldn't afford to allow her children to fall into. And for a split second, she regretted them because if they hadn't arrived, she _could_ just _pick up that life again._ Upon his arrival, Clara could have walked back into the Tardis and back into this life with him, just like they'd been before – just like he'd promised when he'd left.

Closing the gap between them, the Doctor adjusted Olive on his hip. His free hand draped over Clara and he sighed when she leaned into him. It continually shocked him, how familiar her body against his had become and he didn't realize how much he missed it until she was there, hand coming up to grip his coat. He glanced down to catch her burying her face momentarily in his chest in that moment of weakness where she wanted to sob without the children seeing.

But they'd seen.

They were no longer looking out at the stars, but staring at their mother. Given a universe to devour, she was still their supernova and nothing else would matter if she was the star blinking out in their skies. Henry's lips trembled and the Doctor knew the boy could feel the small shakes Clara's body gave as she tried to restrain her tears, moreso than Olive could. He reached up around Clara, touching the boy's chin, holding it in his fingers a moment, trying to give him a reassuring smile and in that moment he recognized something in the small face that turned away from him, dropping down against Clara's shoulders.

He felt the girl he held shifting down, trying to reach her mother, and the Doctor backed away a step, bringing them all with him before he slipped to the ground with Clara, releasing her daughter so the girl could hug her and Clara, despite her best efforts to control her tears, cried harder. The Doctor brushed a hand over her head as both children stood at either side of her, holding her tightly, heads at her shoulders as she turned, kissing Olive's forehead and then the side of Henry's neck.

"I don't…" the Doctor started.

"Take us home," she whimpered.

Clara inhaled deeply and she knew she had to regain her composure because Henry and Olive didn't understand what had happened, and neither – she knew – did the Doctor, now closing the doors and rushing past them to work the machine that fell back into the time vortex with a drop that made Olive mope loudly. She reached up, around both of their bodies, and wiped at her tears on her face as the Tardis stabilized and the Doctor returned.

Pulling them both away, Clara smiled up into their red faces. "Oh, Olive," she knelt up, brushing her fingers over her cheeks and then working to try and smooth down the hair that had gotten tussled about.

"Are you mad, mummy?" Henry asked.

She shook her head and admitted, "I'm sad, Henry."

"Why are you sad?" Olive prompted, sniffling lightly.

Clara half-turned towards the Doctor before closing her eyes and telling them boldly, "Because this box is very dangerous; what we did was incredibly dangerous."

"Why does that make you sad?" Olive replied with a tilt of her head.

"Because I put you in danger and as your mum, it's my job to keep you out of danger," she smiled at them as they considered her answer.

Henry glanced up at the man standing beside his mother and he asked, "Wouldn't you protect us, Doctor? Like mummy protects us?"

"Yes," Olive agreed, "Wouldn't you?"

The Doctor clasped his hands together and then leaned back against the railing, looking away as they waited for his answer. Clara stood, grasping both of her children by the hands to lead them back to the door, releasing Henry a moment to push it open and he rushed back, standing before the Doctor, brow knotted together as he stared up at him, giving him a scowl of frustration he knew too well.

"Wouldn't you?" He asked again, voice breaking lightly.

Bending to stare into his eyes, the Doctor felt his heart ache as he nodded and then told him, "This box, Henry," he glanced up, "Olive," he added before looking back at the boy, "This box can be very dangerous; the adventures I've told you about – they're all very exciting, but they're dangerous. Your mum's right."

Henry leaned forward and asked again, quietly, "But you would protect us, _wouldn't you_, Doctor?"

Mouth falling open, he reached out to take Henry's hands in his own, feeling the small fingers that hung loosely and comfortably against his before nodding, "I would do everything to keep you all safe, Henry, but sometimes everything isn't enough. Your mum is right." He looked up at her as she clenched her jaw and nodded shortly, reaching out as Henry slipped away from the Doctor and moved back at her side.

Clara guided her children out and the Doctor moved swiftly to the door, swinging out against one side to see her going into her house as he called her name. She turned and gave him the smallest of smiles, one that ignited a tiny flicker of hope in his chest, before he glanced at Olive and Henry, both turned in towards their mother, watching him over their shoulders.

The Doctor waved, grinning sadly as their small hands came up to mimic the motion before they moved inside, door closing behind them and he dropped his head, bopping it against the doorframe of the Tardis. Then he turned, straightening and pulling the door shut tightly and flicking the lock before scowling at the center console.

He pointed, "You."

The console hummed loudly and the lights above him circled wildly.

"I'll shut you down!" He threatened. "What were you thinking? I'll have to park across town just to make sure they don't come wandering in again, have you pop them off to Raxacoricofallapatorius while our backs are turned."

Something buzzed unexpectedly and he kicked at the console, leaning against it because whatever advancements he'd made with Clara, this had certainly set him back. How could she trust him if he'd lost control of the machine he purported to captain? He'd never be allowed to have the children inside for a look and he knew they'd enjoy a look. A proper tour. A swim in the pool and a run through the library. They'd love the oversized telescope and the rooms filled to their brims with assortments of clothes and lost objects over the centuries and planets.

The Doctor smiled, imagining how much Olive would love to throw a fedora on her mop of hair and spin a feather boa over a dress too large for her small body as she clicked about in heels that possibly wouldn't even fit the tiny feet of her tiny mother. He chuckled, head dropping slightly as he envisioned how Henry would gawk at the inner wirings of the Tardis, listening to him explain with fascination how each component worked to bring them closer to the stars and constellations in the boy's book.

And a sudden notion struck him as he glanced up at the console. Why would the Tardis allow the children entrance without his knowledge in the first place? Why would she offer to personally take them to _their_ stars without his asking? Why would she do anything for these children she'd never met? She'd never done so before. He pulled his monitor around and tapped through the log of travel, because it was there whenever he bothered to look. It hadn't been eight years since he'd left.

He'd left Clara six years and eleven months before.


	18. Chapter 18

Clara laid in her bed, Henry at her left and Olive at her right, both nestled just underneath her arms, heads laid heavily against her chest as she read off the last lines of their storybook, closing it in her lap and looking from one sleeping child to the other. She stroked Olive's hair and then ran a hand softly over Henry's head. She'd cut his hair after his bath, shaved it within an inch of his head and she frowned now at the ears that stuck out more prominently than she'd remembered.

Slipping up, she dropped them onto the pillows before turning and picking Olive up, carefully carrying her towards her bedroom and placing her in her own bed, sighing as she tucked the sheets into her neck and kissed her forehead. She stared down at the small face, so calm after the excitement of the evening. Clara pressed another kiss into her cheek and stepped out, going back into her room to lift Henry into her arms with a grunt.

Six years old, she reminded herself.

The thought crushed her chest as she laid him down. They were six years and two months old. All that time without him and she'd been just fine. Clara reminded herself that she'd been just fine. Through a double dose of colic and a childhood full of illness and tantrums and growth spurts and bills and everything that had been thrown in her face and said behind her back, she'd been fine. Why had she been incapable of standing at his side, holding her children, looking out at the stars for two minutes?

_Because it felt like a family and you are not a family_.

Clara reached up to take the boy's face in her palms and she looked into it, seeing his father immediately in every feature, hidden just underneath the passing resemblance to his sister. She always had and she knew she always would. Her thumbs came up over his brow and she shifted to kiss his nose and then his forehead before she dropped back and out of his room, to the ringing in the hallway, muted by the fabric and contents of her purse.

"Yeah, hello?" She whispered as she lifted the phone to her ear, expecting it to be her father.

The line was silent a moment before he asked calmly, "Are they asleep?"

"Yes, Doctor, they're asleep," Clara replied slowly.

"Are they alright?"

She could hear the concern dripping off his voice and she nodded, crossing an arm at her waist and telling him plainly, "They're fine, a little confused, but they're fine."

He went silent again and she found it drove her mad. She waited, listening to the sigh he released slowly and then he asked, "Could you come to the Tardis for a moment?"

"Doctor, it's late," she started.

"Just a moment," he interrupted.

"_Just_ a moment," she repeated, eyes closing as she dropped her hand down and ended the call.

She went into her bedroom and pulled a thin robe over her nightgown and then went to the Tardis, stepping back when the door opened for her and the Doctor wasn't standing there. Curiously, she peered in, seeing him leaned against the console, head dropped down between his shoulders and she stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

"That's what she did for the children the other night," he told her, raising a hand, "Sensed them just outside and opened up for them because I would have been too far to hear them knock."

Crossing her arms over her chest, she nodded, coming up to the console to meet him.

He looked up at her, face emotionless, and he uttered, "I'm sorry for earlier."

"It's not your fault," she offered quietly.

Straightening, the Doctor watched her fidget as she glanced around the room before she settled her eyes on his and he could see the anxiety there. He hadn't sensed it before. He hadn't been suspicious before, and the longer he stared, the more she seemed to shift on the spot.

"Is that what you wanted me to come out for?" She asked bluntly.

He shook his head. "I wanted to talk to you and I needed you to be away from the children so that you could tell me the truth without fearing what they'd think of you."

"Tell you the truth?" Clara spat, watching the way he was standing calmly despite the severity of his words, the honesty in them that stung her unexpectedly because she did fear the day her children looked back at the decisions she'd made in life and were old enough to judge her for them.

"What am I to you?" The Doctor asked, pushing off the console and watching her flinch slightly as she considered the question before she shook her head.

"I'm not sure I understand," and there was the hint of a smile on her lips. "You're the Doctor."

He nodded, slowly, and posited, "And when I left, what was I to you?"

"What were _you_ to _me_?" She responded, "After that night at the Maitland's, _what was I to you_?"

With an easy smile, he sighed, "You were my Clara."

"Your Clara," she said softly, dropping her hands to her sides and looking up at him.

"You were everything to me," he allowed, bottom lip giving a small shake against how much it hurt him to think of her without him all of these years. "You were everything to me," he repeated, voice broken.

Clara nodded and stared at the ground, "I didn't know."

"I'm telling you now," he supplied weakly.

She glanced up and elaborated, "I didn't know what you were to me." Clara looked over the ship and told him honestly, "You've got this life and it's never-ending – _you're never-ending_ – and I didn't know how I could fit into that. How I could possibly work myself into this life of yours." With a shrug, she sighed, "I didn't know what you were to me because I didn't know what I could ever be to you."

"Did you love me?" He interrupted.

"How could you ask that?" Clara spat.

"Did you?" He pleaded.

"Yes," she shouted, "Of course I did!"

The Doctor tried to smile, but the ache in his chest prevented him from doing so as he asked, "Do you still love me?"

Throwing her arms up slightly, Clara retorted in anger, "What difference does that make?"

He stared at the top of the Tardis and then back at her, inhaling sharply to shout, "It makes all the difference in the world!"

And she bellowed in response, "Of course I do!" She shook her head and stared at him with a ferocity he'd never seen in her eyes as she continued, "Of course I still love you! Why do you think this is all so complicated! Why do think this is so _difficult_?" Clara took a moment, holding back tears before she continued, "I've had to live a life without you, Doctor – _without you_ – without knowing if you were coming back, without knowing if you even _wanted_ to come back, without knowing if you'd just left me because I wasn't good enough or if you'd had your way with me and had discarded me or… or if you'd just _died_ somewhere out there where I wasn't around to save you."

Clara's tears burned her cheeks as she turned away from him, head tilting slightly as she shifted back and raised a finger at him before snapping it away, "And you come back, you come back after all of this time and all of this… all of this _anger_ and all of this _hatred_ I have for you – I can't give it a voice because none of it was your fault. You didn't mean to leave!" She stepped away from him, "You didn't mean to leave, so you want to walk back in and you want everything to be just like it was and it can't be – _it can't possibly be_. I have my life. My Henry and my Olive, and they need me, Doctor – not this life." Then she added coldly, "They don't need this life, and they certainly don't need you."

"Clara…" he started.

"No," she turned, "No, you don't get to do this. You don't get to dictate this conversation. This is my life; these are _my children_."

"_Then tell me_," he argued, "You've had to do this alone for seven years, you've had to be brave and you've had to be strong and you've had to be impossibly brilliant. You've lead your own life and you've bested the doubts of everyone around you and you deserve to be angry at me. I deserve to be hated because I wasn't there for you the way I promised you I'd be."

"I can't," she cried.

"_Why not_!"

"_Because_ I… I just can't." And she closed up. He watched it happen instantly, the pain on her face smoothing away as she inhaled and held her lips tightly together… but her eyes defied her. They were burning brightly with tears and they stared into him in a way that broke his hearts.

"Clara," he moved closer to her and lifted a hand, but she moved away, reaching up to take hold of the cool metal that circled the console. "Clara, don't do this."

She shook her head.

"We're beyond playing the formalities, we're better than building these walls," he laughed, "Clara, just tell me what you want me to do and I'll do it."

She stepped forward and told him plainly, "I want you to leave."

He jerked back, struck by the words and the finality behind them.

"Leave, and don't come back," she murmured through shaking lips.

He looked to the console, feeling defeated and he listened to her as she breathed heavily where she stood, still gripping the railing on the entrance ramp. The Doctor dropped his head slightly as he laid his palms down and nodded, "If that's what you want."

"It is," she shot, voice quivering, betraying her.

"But answer me one last question, Clara," he began slowly, adding quietly, "And _please_ don't lie to me."

"I won't," she replied quickly, head coming up.

The Doctor tilted his head to look up at her, watching as she stared at him with wide eyes, body tensed against whatever he was about to ask. She studied his face, preparing herself and he asked silently, "Are they mine?"

Clara opened her mouth, asking in a hushed voice, "What?"

"Henry and Olive," he began, before slowly finishing, "Are they… my children?"

He could see the pain that flickered over her face and it burned him because, for a moment, he presumed he'd been wrong and his arrogance had insulted her, but then she uttered, almost inaudibly, "Yes," before turning and rushing out of the Tardis.


	19. Chapter 19

The Doctor felt the bile rising in his throat as he heard the Tardis door slap roughly against the wood of the other panel. It bounced back open with a shake and he turned to look at the gap it had left. He could see her standing just a few feet away, shoulders high as her head dropped and he knew she was crying, wondered if she'd meant to tell him the truth, or if it had just slipped out in her resentment. He'd agreed to leave, so she'd burn his soul by admitting that the two children sleeping soundly inside of that house were his and he'd have to leave them behind the way he left her.

But purposely, not the way he'd left Clara.

Not with the hope he'd left Clara.

Not with any hope himself.

He rocked slightly against the console and pushed off, stomping towards the door just as she'd begun to walk towards the house and he shouted her name as he stepped out onto the dewy grass. She stopped just next to the brightly colored children's picnic bench that sat not far from the door. Shaking his head, he raised a finger and pointed it at her, then dropped it away as she turned and he inhaled sharply, taking her in. She was utterly devastated.

Frozen, he watched Clara sobbing before him openly, a broken mother trying to protect her children's hearts the best she could and when he slowly began to approach her, she held out her arms and shouted, "No."

"Clara, I can't…" he started, shaking his head as she remained, palms open towards him, her own head shaking slightly against the notion of him taking another step towards her, "You can't do this to me," he finally bellowed, "You can't…"

But she nodded, "I can, I can because it's my job to!" She gestured back with one finger, "Those are my babies, Doctor – _mine_, and I won't let them…"

"You won't let them know me?" He asked boldly.

"_I won't let them know you as their father_!" She cried in response.

"Clara, I am their father," he felt the air leave his lungs and he swallowed roughly, repeating up at her, pain cracking his voice, "Clara, _I am their father_."

She shook her head, "No, you're the Doctor. You're the _magic man _who came out of the skies with your blue box and when you leave, that's what you'll be to them – some story they laugh about, late at night, and then they'll forget." She smiled up at him sadly, "They'll _forget_ you, Doctor. That's what I can give them, what I never got – that peace of mind not spending years looking around every street corner, or listening for the sound of the Tardis. I can give them that. I _will_ give them that."

The Doctor felt his knees go weak as he stared at her, at the look of severity she was giving him, the way her body swayed slightly, one foot to the next, as though she were having difficulty standing herself, and he told her simply, "No."

"_YOU DON'T GET TO SAY NO_!" Clara howled. "_You don't get a say_!" She turned her face away from him, uttering, "You left, you don't get a say, you don't get them – _you don't get them_, Doctor." She looked back at him, fresh tears on her face, "They're my children. _They're my children_!"

"Clara, they're my children too," he pleaded.

She fell forward slightly and he caught her, grasping her arms as she held his and he felt as though, in that moment, either might have collapsed if it weren't for the other. She moaned lowly, "You left."

"I didn't mean to," he hissed.

"I was alone," she told him.

"That's not what I wanted, Clara, please!" He inhaled raggedly and stared down at the top of her head, wanting her to look up at him, but she didn't.

She took several pained breaths and shook her head, "This isn't about what you wanted, it's about what happened. What _happened_, Doctor?"

And she raised her eyes to him, begging him for an answer that made sense. An answer he didn't have. "Time was stolen from us," he finally told her.

"You," she began, chest quivering, "You were stolen from me… because of this life you lead and I can see it, I can see it in your eyes – I saw it, I've seen it – you wanted them to be yours before you knew. You wanted us to be a family, but you don't understand. _How could you understand_? It can't be _this_ life for you and it can't be _that_ life for us; you couldn't survive us and we wouldn't survive you."

And he understood.

She'd had six years to think about him and their time together and she knew that in every average day she lived there were the small adventures of a single mother, not the grand journeys of a time traveler. He could handle the occasional dinner and the pop-in visits, but she didn't believe him capable of settling down and being her husband, of being their full-time father, nor could she pick up her family and move them into the Tardis with the dangers of aliens and robots and madmen.

Despite the pain it caused her and the questions it would arouse in the children later, she would rather give him up than take a chance. Taking a chance, they both knew, that almost certainly would lead to a devastating conclusion with two innocent children wrapped up in the middle.

Her hands were clasping onto his forearms as she shook her head and he lowered his. "I could try," he offered quietly.

Clara frowned and asked softly, "Try what, Doctor?"

With a chuckle, he considered, "A job, a home, a life with you."

Her lips trembled as she tried to smile, sad comprehension in her eyes as she sighed, "You shouldn't have to _try_, Doctor."

"But I could," he raised his eyebrows to declare, "I could. For you; for them – I could."

Clara's hands slipped off him and she stood, unsteadily, in front of him. She was putting herself back together, he knew, and he felt his insides tearing apart because she was putting herself back together without him. She was readying herself for his departure and, he knew, she expected it to be permanent this time.

"Clara, why won't you let me?"

"Same reason I accepted this life and how I have to live it." She nodded to him, "Because the father of my children is a Time Lord. A man who won't age, a man who will just change his face. A man who'll long to explore the vastness of space because that is his home, that is his job, and that is his life." She eyed him a moment before asking, "How could I put my children through that? How could I ask them to be patient? Ask them to be understanding? Ask them to be forgiving?" She swallowed and bit her lip before continuing, "When you forget Olive's dance recital, or Henry's science fair? When you don't show up for dinner, or aren't there in the morning because you got a call from the Queen? Or when you've picked up another companion and they think you're moving on from me? How do I put my children through that, Doctor?"

"Our children," he told her through his clenched jaw.

"Excuse me?" Clara murmured in response.

He squeezed his hands at his sides and repeated, "They're _our children_, Clara."

She looked away, "Doctor, don't make this worse than it has to be."

"How could it possibly be worse?" He implored. "I came back for you and when I got here you had been raising our children by yourself and you couldn't even bring yourself to tell me. You let me in just enough to fall in love with them – leading me to believe they're another man's children to save yourself from the pain of the truth – and then you tell me I have to leave, knowing they're mine." He shook his head, "How could you expect me to leave so easily."

"I don't expect you to leave easily!" She shouted at him. "I just expect you to leave."

"I can't," he spat.

"You have to," she begged.

"For their sake? Or for yours?"

Clara's mouth dropped open as she demanded, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You protect them from assumptions," he challenged. "You protect them from accusations you've had six years to check off on a list. I've been here a week, I've…"

"One week!" She pointed. "You've been here one week. What's one week in six years?"

"It wouldn't be what you fear," he told her desperately, "Clara, you can't ask me to abandon them."

"You abandoned me!" She reminded, turning away. "I know you didn't mean to, but that's the thing of it, Doctor – you didn't mean to." She glared at him and shook her head, "I know you wouldn't mean to break their hearts, I know you would want nothing more than to give them the whole universe, but it doesn't mean that one day you wouldn't mean to hurt them and I can't allow it." Clara stared at him, head tilting as she continued, "What I do – all that I do – is make sure they're happy. I can't risk you hurting them with broken promises, whether you meant to or not."

Hands pressing to his forehead quickly, he dropped them against his lap and uttered, "So that's it? I go? I leave just when I know who they are?"

"Yes," she told him flatly.

"No," he replied. "I can't leave them."

"You have to."

He could see the tears threatening her eyes as she pushed her lips together and waited, glancing towards his Tardis and he turned, feeling dejected because he thought maybe, maybe she would change her mind. He shook his head and moved to her quickly, quicker than she could react and he kissed her, feeling her melt for a moment in his embrace. Clara relaxed and she grabbed hold of him and she pulled him down towards her and then she turned her head aside, leaving his lips brushed against her cheek.

"Please, Doctor," she pleaded, eyes closed as she felt his breath warm on her skin. "Please just go."

Hands slipping off her, he took two weak steps away from her and she turned to walk into the house, closing the door behind her and he raised a hand to his chest, physical pain pounding underneath the vest. The Doctor moved back into his Tardis and he leaned against the doors he closed, head knocking against the wood a moment before he shifted around and slid to the ground, too overwhelmed to stand. He buried his face in his hands and screamed because the very thing that had defined him for so long had lost him the only thing he longed for.


	20. Chapter 20

Clara stared up at the ceiling as the sun began to rise. The Tardis had departed hours ago, she'd heard it after she'd been lying in her bed for a time after their argument, trying to calm the ragged breathing and the incessant tears. Her alarm would be going off in twenty minutes, she knew, and she sighed because she would have to get through the day somehow. She would have to tell herself that everything would be fine because if she didn't, if she didn't accept the finality of the night before, her life would fall apart.

"No," she heard silently from somewhere in the house.

Sitting up, she listened to the sound of a scooting chair and she furrowed her brow, standing and moving through the house silently to find Olive standing atop one of the dining room chairs looking out the small window in the side door. The girl's shoulders gave the little bounce of a heavy sigh and she laid her forehead down against the glass with a thud.

"Hey, Olive," Clara called quietly, smiling as she approached the diminutive child who didn't turn, but touched the window with one finger, letting it slide away.

Clara stood behind her, running her hands over her hair to smooth away the bed head and she glanced out into the empty yard and closed her eyes. She'd told him to go; why did it hurt so much that he had. Isn't that what she'd wanted, she asked herself roughly. No, she knew. She wanted an impossible thing. She wanted him to be human and she wanted him to be hers.

"Daddy's gone," the child told her softly.

"Olive!" Clara gasped.

The girl turned and looked up at her, face crumpling as she fell into Clara's chest, holding her tightly to cry and Clara stood in shock a moment before rubbing her back and lifting her up into her arms so she could sit. She pulled the child away from her and tapped her chin, raising it so she could meet her eyes before she shook her head and smiled. Olive tried, but her lips simply shook in a frown.

"Olive," she told the girl, "The Doctor's been called away – important mission in space."

She shook her head and dropped it back on Clara's shoulder, mumbling lightly, "He's so far away."

Inhaling deeply, Clara nodded, "Don't worry, he'll be safe. And he's never that far," she tried to assure.

But Olive raised a hand to her chest and shook her head, "He's so very far." She tilted her head and told Clara sadly, "He's so far he's missing."

Clara tried to laugh, taking the girl's hand in hers, "Olive, come now, what is this nonsense? You saw, he's in the night sky, floating over the stars."

The girl tore her hand away and gripped at her chest again, crying, "But he's not here."

"Olive," Clara warned, "He's gone to save the universe."

Dropping away from her, Olive moped, "I feel empty," and left her seated in the kitchen, confused and frightened – how did she mean, empty.

How could she feel emptiness? How… she touched her own heart and some bit of understanding flickered through her mind. Henry had always been the boisterous one, the vocal child who got into trouble and tripped over his own feet and smiled from the ground with an easy, "_I'm ok, mummy_!" But Olive? She was her quiet bug who always knew just when to hug her and just when to make her laugh and just when to walk away. If Henry was every ounce the physical miniature of his father; Olive was his heart and his mind. His wondrous notions and his charming empathy.

Olive felt empty because Clara felt empty.

And where Henry suspected, Olive knew the Doctor was her father. Had probably known for a lot longer than she'd even know how to explain. The strange man who'd showed up at their doorstep made Clara's heart pound and her head spin in a way her daughter had never felt before because no other person could do to her what the Doctor did. Clara managed a weak grin before standing and going to find her snuggled in bed with Henry, both holding on to one another, eyes closed, breathing steady.

"Olive," she prompted.

"I don't wanna go to school, mummy. I feel sick," she mumbled, eyes not opening.

"Olive, please look at me."

Henry shook his head, "I don't want to go to school either. I've got what she's got."

Clara pushed a hand to her forehead, then grasped her hands together just underneath her chin and told them firmly, "Neither of you are sick. Get up."

Olive burrowed her face into the pillow and Clara found herself growing frustrated. The Doctor leaving was supposed to make everything go back to how it used to be. It was supposed to fix her world so she could keep trudging on, and instead, it had left her with this. Olive shaking her head and Henry holding her hand, neither looking at her, feeding her guilt as she stood and shouted,

"_Get out of bed right now_!"

Both children jumped and turned their heads towards her.

She felt like she was seething because she wanted normal and this was not normal. The two of them fighting was normal, them running around the house screaming loudly was normal, them jumping on her in bed was normal. This was nothing normal, this was tearing her apart inside and she needed it to stop because she couldn't take it from them. Not Henry giving her his father's concerned eyes and Olive giving her his accusatory stare.

Clara stared at the foot of the bed. "Get up, we're having breakfast, we're getting dressed, I'm getting showered," she commanded, "You're going to school and you're not going to feign illness to be picked up because I have to work because if I don't work, we'll be back living with your grandfather because this house won't be ours anymore and honestly, today… _honestly, today_, I cannot do this with you both. I can't."

She pulled back the sheets and waited as they both scrambled out of the bed and rushed towards the kitchen where Clara served them both cereal and juice and stormed back towards her room. She went through the shower and emerged in a towel to charge into each of their rooms and take the clothes they'd chosen away from them to hand them their uniforms with a quick mumbled scolding for each as they pouted. Clara dressed quickly and frowned at herself in the mirror.

_Be strong_, she knew. _Be brave_, she reminded. _You're_…

"Mummy, could you put this on for me?"

Henry was standing beside her, terrified look on his face as he held the bow tie between his hands, clutched just in front of his chest. As though he were protecting it and Clara took a deep breath and knelt in front of him, taking the slip of material gently before examining his shirt, seeing it properly buttoned and tucked into his slacks. She worked his collar up and tied the bow neatly before dropping his collar back down and giving him a smile he shyly mirrored.

"Are you mad at us, mummy?" He asked.

Clara shook her head, "No, Henry, I'm not mad at you." She could see Olive, leaned against the door frame, looking in warily and she motioned her closer, chuckling when the girl took the few hesitant steps towards her. "I lost my temper, I'm sorry."

"Is he coming back?" Olive asked.

With a shrug, she told them both, "I don't think so."

"But we can hope?" Henry supplied brightly.

Clara wrapped her arms around them both, feeling them shift into her and lay their heads against either shoulder, their breath warm against her neck. "We can always hope," she told them, turning to kiss both of them lightly before standing and going towards Olive's room for a cardigan before moving into Henry's room for a sweater vest because she knew the air was changing today. The odd warmth of the past week gone, replaced by a return to the last chills of winter before spring took hold.

She loaded them into the car and they drove in silence, both looking out their respective windows in the back while Clara concentrated on the road ahead and she knew, sadly, that she'd spared them nothing. They were both looking for the blue box, hoping it would be parked on a street corner, or in an abandoned lot, or by the grocers, or even in the gardens. Clara dropped them off at school and she hurried to work, seeing the look Marge was giving her as she immediately set herself to inventory without a word, grateful the woman choose to leave her be instead of question the puffiness around her eyes and the way her breath still shook occasionally when she held in her tears.

In the afternoon, she went to pick up the children to find the after school care director breaking up a fight between two boys and gesturing at the front office. She frowned, going through the doors and looking in to see Henry and Olive both seated against a wall looking small and lonely and she smiled, calling out to them, but when they glanced up, their faces remained unchanged and she knew something was wrong. Henry was sporting a bruised eye and Olive was holding a bandaged hand and she rushed towards them, touching her son's face while looking over her daughter's hand and she opened her mouth to ask, "What happened?" when a man came to stand over her, clearing his throat.

Clara stood quickly, shaking her head at him and gesturing at her children, and shouted, "Why didn't anyone reach me about this earlier?" She watched him fluster a moment before continuing, "Who did this to my children?"

The man raised a hand to his office and Clara stepped inside with a look back at Henry and Olive, who both went back to staring at their feet, swinging beneath them on the small chairs. Clara stood just behind a seat and watched the man as he went around a desk marked 'Headmaster Charlston' and she swallowed hard because it was never ever… ever… good to be in that office. "Ms. Oswald, the children have been having some… difficulties… in school as of late. We thought it was simply children being children, you get the occasional fight or disagreement, and we know your… situation."

"What happened?" She interrupted roughly.

"Have there been issues at home?"

"What happened?" Clara repeated.

The man gave her a sympathetic look she was used to before raising a hand, "You should sit down."

"What happened?" Clara asked again, this time with an air of finality as she gripped her purse in her hands and watched him with a raised eyebrow.

"Your daughter has been talking back to teachers, has interrupted four classes in the past week with incredibly colorful remarks for a girl her age," the man supplied.

Clara nodded, "I will have a talk with Olive."

"And your son has been having problems with the other boys," Charlston offered, "Has he made mention of this to you?"

Shaking her head, Clara glanced sideways at the door. Why wouldn't he?

Tapping his finger on the desk, as though he were anxious over what he needed to tell her, he raised his head and explained, "Today he told them that _the Doctor_ would come and throw them all into space and he got into a scuffle with a few of them when they told him he was as mad as his mother."

Clara turned away before giving him a small nod, "Family friend, the Doctor. He'd just visited from out of town, but he's gone now, I don't think this will be a problem – I'll have a talk with Henry. I'm sorry, they're not generally like this…"

"Ms. Oswald, this behavior predates the past few days – he's gotten into verbal confrontations with the other boys before. We've let it slide, given him warnings and punishments…"

"What happened to Olive," Clara interrupted. "Is she getting into verbal confrontations using her hands? And Henry's eye? Did someone's slip of the tongue hit him too hard?"

Charlston shifted in his chair, "These discussions are never easy, Ms. Oswald."

"Just tell me what happened," she told him calmly.

"After breaking up the fight between her brother and the boys, Olive informed Henry that your _family friend_ was their father, that he wouldn't be throwing anyone into space because he'd gone away for good," Charlston told her sadly, waiting.

Clara nodded shortly and sat.

"Henry then turned on Olive and she punched him."


	21. Chapter 21

Clara moved out of the Headmaster's office after listening to him lecture her on what was and wasn't appropriate to discuss in front of children, with the implication that Clara needed to get both of them, and herself, some sort of therapy and she'd ended the conversation with a simple thanks. Closing the door quietly behind her, she glanced up at the two children with their heads bowed. Their legs had stopped swinging and she knew why – they knew she knew what had happened, but they could never understand her guilt.

Smiling at an office assistant who passed, Clara took a few steps towards them, standing before them and waiting until both sets of eyes lifted to find hers. She frowned at the injuries sustained because of each other – because of her – and she sighed, telling them gently, "Let's go."

They climbed into the car and she checked on them both, making sure their belts were locked in before touching Henry's face, trying to get a better look at the bruises around his left eye. Then she glanced at Olive, who was holding her hand in her lap and staring out the window. Lost in her thoughts.

Much like Clara.

"You two," she whispered as she inched back and shut the door, dropping into the driver's seat and taking the car down the street towards their house, occasionally glancing at them in the rear view.

Olive continued to watch the houses as they passed and Henry stared at his feet, occasionally glancing up at his sister beside him questioningly. She could see the hurt in his eyes, just wishing his sister would look his way and Clara slapped a hand against the steering wheel, hearing them both gasp as they jumped in their seats. She could feel the tears emerging and she didn't care anymore because she understood that maybe it had never been the pristine family unit she believed they were and she absolutely knew it would never be.

"Honestly, Olive!" Clara shouted with a shaky voice. "Talking back to teachers! _What would possess you to do that_! I've always told you to respect your teachers," she watched Olive's bottom lip tremble slightly before Clara turned a corner and continued, "And Henry, _why_?" She glanced at him through the rear view, "Why didn't you tell me the boys in school were bothering you! I would have…" her voice trailed as she clenched her jaw, "_You're not supposed to fight with one another_!"

Pulling the car off the road, she swung it into a space along the sidewalk and put the car in park, laying her head back against the seat as she cried. Clara dropped her head down against her hands on the wheel and she tried to control herself because she had to talk to them. She had to explain it to them. And she was terrified because she didn't know how to.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, lifting her head slowly and dropping her hands into her lap. "This is my fault."

Henry shifted slightly and offered a quick, "It's Olive's fault, really, mum."

She laughed lightly, glancing at the worried look he was giving her. "No, baby, this is my fault. I should have told you the truth."

"The truth?" Henry questioned.

"You asked me," she started, voice disappearing, before she forced it back, "You asked me if the Doctor was your father, because you liked him and he was silly and he made us all happy and I told you he wasn't. I lied to you and I shouldn't have done that. I didn't know what else to do…" she trailed, seeing the hurt look in his eyes.

Henry dropped back in his seat, confused.

"He's your father, but he's also not someone who can _be_ your father," she shifted in the chair, turning to look at him properly, "He can't… you don't understand," she shook her head.

With a shake of his own head, he asked, "Why can't he be?"

She saw the confusion on his small face and she pointed, "You said he was a magician, he had a magic box. If you had a magic box, where would you go? Every day, where would you be?"

With a bright grin as his eyes glazed over, Henry told her honestly, "I'd fly to the stars."

Letting him revel in that fantasy, Clara then asked blankly, "Would you come home for dinner?"

The lights dimmed as he looked back at her and it was painful to watch, her son's fascination with his father's obsession dying away as he shook his head, but then he replied lightly, "Why wouldn't I?"

Clara laughed, "Because the stars in the sky, Henry, how does that compare to sitting next to your sister, who just socked you in the face, and having your mother complain about the food you've just spilled on the table."

With a small frown, Henry thought about it and, after a moment, he raised his head and questioned slowly and pointedly, "What would the stars matter if I couldn't come home to you?"

And in that moment she understood there had been hope. If a six year old boy could give up the universe for his family, maybe a grown man had been capable. And she'd sent him away. Told him never to return. Clara turned back around and rested her head, staring out at the blue sky, going darker in the early evening hours, and she laughed to herself. He would have tried. He wanted to try and she thought it impossible.

_You're my impossible girl_.

Raising her hands to her face, she covered her mouth and screamed and then dropped her hands away and glanced at the two in the back seat who were both staring at her. "Mummy hasn't gone mad," she assured them.

Henry eyed Olive, who had gone back to looking out the window, quiet tears rolling over her own cheeks and Henry shouted out, eyebrows rising as both his mother and sister glanced at him curiously. "_What are we fighting over_!" He called to both of them.

And Clara recognized the words, she'd repeated them a million times on a million mornings for a million reasons and she was familiar with the small hint of a grin on his face – he'd said the words on purpose, a mockery of her own frustration. An assurance that this was, to him, ridiculous – as ridiculous as fighting over yellow socks or who got to control the remote or which one of them got to sleep with Peanut, the purple elephant. Clara laughed at him, watching that little twinge in his lips as he realized what he'd done had worked.

"You clever boy," she told him wryly.

He dropped back in the seat, hands coming up to rub the short hair atop his head and he grabbed hold of his ears, pulling them out and blowing up his cheeks, turning to give his sister the face. Olive stared at him a moment, then looked to her mother, who was chuckling, hand over her eyes, and Olive breathed out a laugh, pointing at him and telling him, "You look like a monkey!"

Henry made noises like a monkey would and Clara shook her head at them. Her brilliantly ridiculous children now making faces at one another and laughing at one another. Her heart broke because she wished he could see them. She wished he could have seen them born. Been with her when they found their hands and chewed their feet and crawled about babbling nonsense at her. Clara could imagine the look of joy in his eyes when they'd taken their first steps – Olive first and Henry two months later in frustration. He would have loved their first words: Mumum and Booboo. And he would have cried on their first day of school.

Clara imagined he would have read them stories and made up his own and he would have built them hammocks and insisted on a tree house in the yard and a fort out front. The Doctor would have soothed their nightmares and carried them around the house when they were sick. He would have helped Olive bathe her dolls and corralled Henry's dinosaurs.

Lifting a hand to wipe at her tears, Clara turned to switch the car on knowing in her heart, he would have loved them dearly if he'd returned when he should have. He would have made a life with her, with them, and they would have been happy. And she found herself glancing down familiar streets and listening for familiar sounds as the children in the back quieted, knowing they were going home.

It seemed ridiculous, that he'd ignore her wishes, but, she knew, it was what he did – wasn't it? When something didn't make sense, she knew, he came right back on in and poked at it until it did and her wanting him to leave was the most nonsensical thing in the universe. Clara pulled the car into her driveway with an odd hope inkling in her gut and she ushered the children out and into the house before moving quickly through to the kitchen and to that side door, peering out expectantly.

And her heart sank because he wasn't there.

"Mummy?" Olive asked from just beside the dining room table.

Clara turned and bent slightly, "Come, let me see your hand."

The girl approached her and shook her head, lifting her hand so Clara could remove the bandage that was, she knew, entirely unnecessary. She looked at the bruised knuckles and then up at Olive, who informed her sadly, "Henry's got a hard head."

She nodded, "Wanna order a pizza?"

Olive stared at her, surprised, "Yes!"

Clara stood and hugged her, pulling her mobile phone out of her purse as Olive stood with her hands wrapped around her waist and she ordered food, going to find Henry in the living room dancing around the coffee table watching cartoons. The boy did a familiar twirl and in his hands, Clara could see his Lego Sonic and she sighed, walking Olive to the couch so they could sit down.

They squished into her sides and giggled while she ran her hands over their shoulders and cradled them against her. Clara sighed, zoning out on the odd animation on the screen and listening to the two children occasionally break out into wild fits of laughter over jokes she found more disturbing than amusing and when the doorbell rang, it pulled her out of a daze.

"Pizza!" Olive and Henry shouted, both standing and doing a dance around the coffee table together as Clara laughed and moved to the front door, opening it with a smile that dropped away when she saw the man standing there that was, obviously, not a pizza delivery person.

He smiled at Clara and she supposed he thought himself charming, but she simply stared at him in his dark blue button up shirt and old overcoat. "Can I help you?" Clara asked, hearing the children behind her quieting.

"Captain Jack Harkness," the man told her quickly. "And you are, most definitely, Clara Oswald."


	22. Chapter 22

_**Before going into this, the final chapter, I just wanted to send out a thank you to EVERYONE who has read this story, and a special thank you to those who have left reviews, those who have been 'following', and those who have 'favorited' this. You can't understand how much all of that means to me. Again, thank you so much and I hope you enjoy the conclusion. :D**_

* * *

The man, Captain Jack, tilted his head forward slightly to add, "Here from Torchwood."

Clara nodded slowly and stared. Simply waiting.

"Wow," Jack breathed, "When he said you wouldn't even… I didn't…" his words trailed because she was staring at him incredulously.

Olive rushed to her side and asked quickly, "Is he the pizza man?"

Henry came to her other side and made a sour face, "He's too _pretty_ to be the pizza man."

"Do you have our pizza?" Olive asked.

"Wow," Jack repeated, "Those are the Doctor's…" he trailed and glanced up at Clara.

"You know the Doctor?" Clara asked.

"He told me," Jack started, glancing down at Olive, then at Henry, "He gave me a message for you."

Clara stared at him, feeling as though her heart were on hold as she waited before shouting, "What's the message?" Startling all three around her.

Jack pulled a thickly padded envelope out of his coat pocket and he handed it to her. "How about I take the little Time Lords out into the yard for a game of Catch Captain Jack?"

Nodding slowly, Clara held the package with her name written on it in the Doctor's handwriting and looked down at the children. She gestured to the side door, telling them quietly, "Go on, go play."

Henry and Olive considered the strange man a moment, but followed him as he walked towards the side door, keeping an eye on Clara as she stared at the package and closed the front door. She tore at the top and peered inside before tipping the contents over into her hand. A hand-written letter and an old pocket watch she stared at because it jogged something in her memory as she stared at the spirals and dots etched into it.

Clara held it tightly in confusion as she unfolded the letter and smiled.

_Hello Clara._

_ It's been quite a bit of time since I left, but for you I imagine it's been hours, a day maybe – I didn't want you to have to wait again for my return, but I also knew you might not be too keen on seeing me too soon, so I sent Jack. He's a friend, an old friend. A very old friend. You couldn't imagine how old. And I hope he's had no effect on you because he expects he will and I've made a wager with Martha that he won't because I believe, selfishly, I suppose, that the only man who could have an effect on you is me._

_But I also know that effect isn't always pleasant. I saw that when I last spoke with you and I thought this the best way to approach you again because with this letter, you could put it down, you could tear it up, but hopefully you would restrain from tossing it in the fireplace because I hope you could piece it back together when you're ready, and read it. I hope you read it the same day it's delivered because I doubt I could take waiting much longer for an answer. I know it's not fair, me expecting an answer so soon after you've had to wait so many years for me and I'll be patient and understanding if you choose to set this letter aside for a time, until you're ready._

_But know I'm waiting. _

_I'm waiting for you this time and I'll wait as long as I have to._

_It should be the Wednesday after I left. It should be Wednesday. And I've always meant to ask, why Wednesday, but it never seemed to matter. You don't realize this, but, with the Tardis, every day was a Wednesday for a time. I would drop you off and climb into that box and race to find you the next Wednesday just knowing you'd be there waiting for me. And now, I hope, neither of us have to wait much longer because I've made a decision and I'm handing it off to you for approval, because, Clara, it's only fair that this be in your hands._

_What you're holding is called a Fob watch. I might have mentioned it before in passing, stories of my times with Martha Jones, and of the Master. Along with the Chameleon Arch in the Tardis, it allows me to alter myself – my entire self – and I've chosen to use it to give us a chance at a lifetime together. I could become anything and anyone, create a backstory and a life, and I could integrate into any society, but what I've decided is to be myself._

_All of my memories and all of my knowledge – well, most of my memories and most of my knowledge – and every frustrating quirk and annoying habit… but human. One heart; one lifetime. For us to share. I would grow old with you, Clara. With our children. And I would live to see every moment of our life unfold before me, day by day, without a time machine or the grandiose of the universe because I don't need those things – I need my family._

_I've lived a long and lonely life._

_I had a family once, back on Gallifrey, but they're long gone and in that time between so many hundreds of years ago and now, I've adopted companions, and sometimes their families, as my own, but they're not, not truly. And it wasn't until I stepped into your life – even before, into the echoes of your life that preceded you in mine – that I realized just what I'd been missing, and that was you. Just you, Clara._

_And seeing Henry and Olive, yes Clara, even before I knew they were mine, I saw the entirety of hundreds of years slip by meaninglessly because you hadn't been there. And I looked forward to a millennia of a lifetime that seemed empty because I knew I had a family and it had rejected me out of a justified fear that I wouldn't think they weren't enough to sustain me._

_Clara, you were always enough._

_You were what sustained me; it's why I returned. It's why I parked outside of your house and chose to stand still because the promise of those small adventures inside of that small house with you and the children, they were more enticing than any galaxy I could float above or wander through. Imagine that? The eager smiles on those excited faces, waiting for the end of a tale, or a game of hide-n-seek, or just a simple smile in return meant more to me than anything has in a very long time._

_And they're my children. _

_My Olive and My Henry._

_I couldn't think of a life without them, and I know that this life isn't safe for them and it isn't what you'd choose for them, so I decided that I would give them what they deserve – what you deserve – and that's all of me. All of me that's important and necessary and right. Without the dangers of the unknowns of the universe, without the uncertainty of my fate, without the fear of not knowing the day-to-day. All of a very human me that can age and live and experience everything with you, and them._

_At least, I'd like to try. I'd like to return home – not to the Tardis, but to that quaint little home on the corner of that quiet little street – and give a life with you a try. A life with you and our children._

_I know you have hesitations. I know you feel that I'm not able to settle down, to live that life, so I'm sending my Fob watch ahead of me with Jack. It's my Time Lord parts, in a sense, locked away in a watch and I'd like to give it a chance, but if you don't want to, if you don't want to give us that chance, you need only open it when I arrive at your doorstep and I'll leave. But I hope you won't. I'm counting on you, actually, to know somewhere deep down that I can try – that maybe I can succeed – and you'll hold onto to it for me._

_Keep it safe; keep it hidden away, because I'll know what it is when I see it. I won't hide that choice from myself this time because I know I won't want to open it, Clara. It'll be there, in your possession, your choice, and as long as it remains closed, I'll be confident knowing your choice was a life with me. A very long life, Clara._

_And, in the end – when it's coming to an end, for you or for me – one of us could open that watch and my body would regain its Time Lord coding and I would regenerate in that death. The way it should be, after I've cared for you and our children, and helped raise our grandchildren, and, if we're incredibly lucky, get a chance to know our great grandchildren, I'll return to the stars and life will move on having had us in it for a time._

_The Doctor and Clara Oswald and all the days of our life together._

_My greatest adventure – a lifetime._

Clara read the letter four times before drifting to the mantel place and looking over the photos of their children, imagining a new set of photos, ones that included their father. For a moment she smirked through her tears imagining a new set of small hands and feet that might be the perfect combination of mother and father and would give their older siblings hell. Oh, _they would_, she knew. She turned when she heard the knock on the door, dazed before realizing it was the pizza and she set the Fob watch down next to the photo of herself holding the newborn twins and moved to her purse in the hall.

Letter still clutched in her hand, she opened the door and rummaged for her wallet, glancing up with a quick apology for her reddened face and froze, staring into the Doctor's insecure expression. Her purse fell to the ground in a mess of clacks and jingles and she inhaled deeply as he remained, hands clasped behind his back.

"Hello, Ms. Oswald," he allowed.

"Hey," she breathed.

He smiled politely and tilted his head, "Obviously, it couldn't be _the Doctor_, no one runs around with a rubbish name like that, so the Unit folks and the Torchwood team had to do a little brainstorming about a few things, and it's taken them some time. Like a job. I couldn't hold just any job, it had to be something to entertain while keeping me out of trouble and I believe they decided keeping it with Unit – a consultant of sorts for all kinds of experiments and the building of gadgets and such – worked best for all involved. Steady pay, which is a good thing on Earth, I've been told. And they know I have a penchant for using John Smith anyways, but I told them," he wagged a finger in the air, "I told them I know how it works with women – I'd rather be John Oswald before I get into any bit of trouble with the wife – and they tried to convince me that that's not how it works, but Amelia made it fairly clear…"

"Shut up," she whispered.

Mouth closing slowly, the Doctor frowned and looked at her.

"Just," she sighed, "Shut up," she repeated.

"Not exactly the welcome I'd envisioned," he muttered.

Clara reached forward, grabbing his open collar at both sides and she pulled him down into her to kiss him, laughing against his lips as she cried. His hands inched around her waist and he lifted her up slightly, sighing against her just as she inched away to look at him.

"Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?" Clara questioned, searching his eyes.

With a nod, the Doctor settled her down and smiled, hands comfortable at her waist as she let hers slide to his chest, feeling for the singular beat of his human heart. "Clara," he laughed, looking to the ceiling and then back at her. He stared into her, raising his thumbs to wipe away her tears as she waited, smile tugging at her lips before he told her quietly, "My Clara… always."

And she let out a laugh that he mimicked before she lead him towards the kitchen, to the window where they could see Henry and Olive had hog-tied Jack with a jump rope and Clara backhanded him playfully, whispering, "That's you, you know – they've always been exactly your children."

With a small chuckle, the Doctor watched them interrogate Jack, using toy rakes and shovels as guns and he shook his head, raising a hand to drop on Clara's shoulder and reveling in the feel of her leaning back against him comfortably. The way it should be. And the Fob watch sat, untouched on the mantel through the years – a silent observer to their impossible lifetime – between new photos of new small faces, of graduations and marriages, and grandchildren, and, very luckily, great grandchildren. Until a day, a very, very, _very_ long time in the future, it was picked up by an old set of hands, who looked at it with an old set of eyes and a full heart, and he undid the lock with a whispered, "_Geronimo_."

End


End file.
